#guys I’d encourage you to do your counter notices too because I think they’ll probably work as well

[kingofthering]

Won my DMCA Counter Notice and got my gifset back 🥳

[kindahoping4forever]

I’d Rather Be In Love // An Ashton Irwin 5 + 1 Fic

I had been feeling a bit off creatively so while I was on my Tumblr break, I started playing around with the 5 +1 fic format, mainly as a writing exercise; coming up with the overall “theme” and then thinking of the vignettes that would fit in with it is actually a pretty cool brainstorming activity. I don’t know what it was about this particular idea I had but once this popped into my head, I couldn’t stop writing and finished it in about a day. It’s a bit of a departure stylistically (and tonally?) for me so I was wayyyy needy and insecure about it so thank you (as always) to @cal-puddies​ for encouraging me and to @ashtonangst​ for hyping me up when I needed it.

Description: Five first times and one last time with Ashton

Warnings: Boyfriend!Ash (I mean), implied smut (it’s only implied, I know, I’m shocked too), mild angst, a lot of fluff (I know, I’m shocked too)

Word Count: 3,707

Masterlist // Taglist // Ko-Fi

Let  me  know  what  you  think!

————-

The First Meet

“I’d get comfortable if I were you, I’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes and haven’t seen a bartender yet.”

You’re not usually the type to talk to strangers in bars and you’re especially not the one to break the ice but there was something about this man that had you feeling bold. You’d been sitting at the back bar, people watching, waiting for your friends to arrive and he caught your attention as soon as he walked in. Hair slicked, perfectly styled save for one stray curl dangling in front of his eyes, crisp leather jacket and black jeans matched with a pressed button down shirt, impractically left unbuttoned enough to reveal a variety of necklaces and an alluring amount of chest hair. You never realized you found chest hair attractive until now. Huh.

He fixes his eyes on you and any nerves you were feeling are immediately drowned in a sparkling sea of hazel coloring and amused curiosity. “Is that so?” He replies in a voice tinged with an accent you can’t quite place. “This kind of thing happen here a lot?”

You grin, impressed by his smooth way of asking “do you come here often?” without actually saying the unoriginal phrase. “I’m a regular, can’t say that I’ve seen it before,” you eagerly take the bait. “The guy served me and a few others, dipped and hasn’t been back. The big crowd is always at the main bar at the front of the house, which is why I like to sit back here at this one.”

“I came back here for the same reason,” he smiles, sitting on the stool next to you, listening intently to your story.

“Smart man,” you flirt, trying not to think about how he’s now close enough you can smell his cologne.

You’re not sure how long you sit and talk with him - it feels like both a fleeting moment and a lengthy dream. You learn his name is Ashton, he’s a musician and like you, he was here to meet friends who ended up cancelling at the last minute. He asks you about your evening, your job, your life; you’re surprised at how easy it is to talk to him and how actually interested he seems in your answers.

After a while, Ashton looks around the bar and with still no barkeep in sight, he turns to you with a mischievous gleam in his eye and advises, “Keep a lookout?”

You watch enchanted as he confidently strides behind the bar and makes himself a drink. You raise an eyebrow at him and he holds a finger up, telling you to hold on; he reaches into his jacket and pulls out some cash that he leaves under a glass next to the cash register. “I’m thirsty, not a thief,” he explains as if this sequence of events were a totally normal thing to watch happen.

He sits his glass on the bar in front of where he was sitting and then stops to evaluate you for a moment; you feel yourself blush under his gaze. “Whiskey girl,” he declares, letting out a surprisingly adorable giggle when your shocked expression tells him he’s guessed correctly.

He serves your drink and casually comes around back to his seat, no one any the wiser. “Impressive,” you compliment, raising your glass to his. “Bartending skills aren’t too bad either.”

Ashton chuckles and you think to yourself you can’t imagine ever tiring of the sound. “To our friends and their flaky ways," he toasts. You clink glasses and his eyes never leave yours as you take your sips. He leans in and his hand grazes your arm; the feeling is so electric you nearly jump. "Glad they didn't show up, I think I'd rather spend my time with you."

————-

The First Time

"Should we take this to the bedroom?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

You snort at his cliched response and then gasp as he stands up from the couch, lifting you off his lap and locking your legs around his waist in one swift motion.

You were quite proud of yourself for not going home with Ashton that first night, even after talking at the bar until closing. You’d met him for drinks a couple more times that week and tonight when he asked you if you wanted to split some food at the bar, you figured that was dinner adjacent enough that this was essentially a date and you could reasonably justify inviting him back to yours.

You resume kissing as he starts down the hallway, accidentally bumping your back into the wall more than once. He briefly pulls away from your lips, muttering against them, "I have no fucking clue where your bedroom is located."

You affectionately snicker into his neck while pointing him in the right direction; your laughter sets him off and by the time he reaches your room, you're both giggling wildly. He drops you down onto the bed and you start wrestling with each other’s clothes. You immediately reach for his belt buckle but he grabs your hand and sternly warns, "The giggle train stops here, sweetheart, once the clothes come off, it's serious business."

This, of course, only makes you laugh more until you feel his lips on your neck and suddenly things feel a lot less hilarious.

Your hands and mouths eagerly get well acquainted with each other; you feel like you might burst into flames if things don’t progress sometime soon but you also feel like you could live off his exploratory kisses and surprised gasps if you had to.

You bite your lip to keep from smiling as he raises himself up from between your legs, hair goofily out of place thanks to the way you were tugging at it. Despite your best efforts to hide your amusement, he notices and playfully bites at your neck in protest.

“What did I say about your attitude, missy?” Ash taunts, smiling against your skin. “I’m putting in some of my best work here, you’re gonna give me a complex.”

You pull his face towards yours, kissing him deeply and hungrily. “Guess maybe you should try harder,” you tease, putting the emphasis on the word harder, reaching down to palm him.

He groans into your mouth and ruts into your hand. After a few more minutes of teasing, you pull away and direct him to the condoms you keep in your bedside table. You both get yourselves situated and when he finally enters you, you say a silent prayer of thanks to your friends for ditching you that first night.

He’s as attentive and communicative in bed as he is in conversation and your chemistry easily translates into one of the best first encounters you’ve had with someone. In the afterglow, you and Ashton lay there, catching your breath, joking and talking as if you’ve been lovers for years. You’re taken aback by the familiarity and fondness you feel but it doesn’t make you as nervous as you thought it might.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom and when you return, Ash is looking around the room, collecting his clothes that were strewn about.

Without thinking, you blurt out, “You’re welcome to stay the night.” Not wanting to be That Girl, you quickly try to save it. “It’s pretty late, I’m sure you’re tired, probably just want to crash… so… it’s cool if you’d like to do that here. Or, you know. You can go home. That’s cool too.”

He smirks at your obvious panic, walks over and kisses you. “I’d rather stay.”

————-

The First Doubt

“Is it weird I haven’t met your friends yet?”

Ashton’s quiet and it takes you a few seconds to scrounge up the courage to turn and face him; the question had been on your mind but you didn’t mean to let it out on a post-dinner car ride like this. It just happened.

"I don't know… is it?" He glances over at you before turning back to the road. "I'm not being an ass, that's a serious question. Is it? I just hadn't thought about it."

“You’ve met my friends?” You weakly offer, losing your nerve to have the conversation.

He makes a face. “I mean, just a couple of them,” he counters. “And that wasn’t even on purpose, that was just me not leaving your place in time before the brunch brigade showed up.”

You chew your lip, trying to think of how to word your concerns. “It’s just… we’ve been seeing each other for a minute and I think it’s going well -”

“It is,” he interjects, reaching over to grasp your knee reassuringly.

You lace your fingers in his, holding them in your lap. “I guess I was just thinking about it because of the other night when you made plans with me but forgot you had plans with them and I know they didn’t mind postponing but I wouldn’t have minded if they had just hung out with us,” you shrug.

“That option didn’t even cross my mind,” he admits quietly, eyes focused ahead.

“That’s kind of what bothers me,” you say, forcing a laugh so you don’t sound quite as pathetic as you feel. “Do you not think we’ll get along? Are you afraid they’ll embarrass you in front of me? I can’t think of anything I’d do that might embarrass you, but…”

“Baby, no,” he insists, giving your hand a strong squeeze. You smile to yourself - it happened so naturally, he might not realize it, but it’s the first time he’s called you “baby” outside of bed. The car pulls up to a stoplight and he turns to look at you. “You’re not even a little bit embarrassing, they’re definitely going to embarrass me but there’s nothing I can do about that and I do actually think you’d all get along.”

The light turns green and satisfied with his comfort, you’re prepared to drop the topic; it’s quiet for a couple minutes and then Ash is talking again. “If you want me to set something up, I can do that,” he thinks out loud. “I honestly just haven’t thought about it because when I think about wanting to spend time with you, I want to spend time with you… don’t tell anyone, but I like you a lot better than them.”

You grin and lean across the car to kiss his cheek, giving his hair a good tousle. “This is actually probably something that would qualify as embarrassing, huh?” You giggle, trying to finger brush his hair back into place. “Probably shouldn't do that around the boys.”

He flashes you a beaming smile and a light-hearted shrug. “I mean… I’d rather you didn’t.”

————-

The First I Love You

“Oh good, you're here! Can you reach that container on the top shelf with the blue lid? I don't know where the step stool went."

"Happy to see you too," he jokes. "I knew you were only dating me for my height."

"Please, you're not even that tall," you jab, pecking his lips lightly as he hands you the item you requested.

Ash looks around your kitchen, overwhelmed at the mess; he's glad he arrived early so he can help you get things in order. It was his turn this week to host game night for his (and now your) friend group and you offered to hold it at your place; when you insisted on also providing the food, he never imagined you'd go all out like this.

He lightly smacks your ass before peeling off his jacket and walking over to the sink, to turn on the tap and start washing your collection of dirty dishes.

"You should really let me buy you that dishwasher like we talked about," he declares. "Save you so much time and energy, babe."

You press a kiss to his neck tattoo and then hoist yourself to sit on the counter to continue your conversation. "And like I told you, I wouldn't use it enough to justify it," you insist. "My lease will be up next year and I really only need it when I have people over, which is never."

"Well with the way everyone's feasting tonight, I'd say that's definitely going to change," he chuckles, handing you a bowl to dry. "What's on the menu tonight?"

You happily rattle off the list of food you'd spent the day preparing: homemade pizzas for dinner, dips and salsas for snacks, various cookies and mini cakes for dessert. For most dishes, you'd provided both vegan and non-vegan options and had placed them in specifically colored containers to keep track.

Ashton stops the sink and comes to stand between your legs; you look at him curiously as he takes the plate you're drying out of your hands and sits it aside.

"It's really sweet that you went to so much trouble," he says thoughtfully, playing with the hem of your lounge shorts. "You know you didn't have to."

"I know… But I wanted to," you pause a second, evaluating the large stack of containers on the counter opposite you. Your eyes widen and you start rambling, "Oh god, I'm trying way too hard, aren't I? I didn't even think about it, I just went for it, how embarrassing, they already like me, why did I do this? We can stash this stuff and just order something, like normal people would, Jesus Christ, who makes pizza from scratch for game night, I cannot believe ---"

Your rant is cut off by your boyfriend's lips quieting yours. It's a sweet kiss; passion-filled but soft and ultimately reassuring. He laughs softly against your lips, "I love you."

You pull away to study his face, you're not sure why your first instinct is to ask if he's joking but judging from the fondness in his eyes, you know he's not.

He senses your uncertainty and doubles down on his statement. "I love you and I love that you care enough about something as stupid as game night to do all this." He kisses your forehead. "And everyone else is gonna love it too."

You pull his chin towards you and kiss him slowly, deliberately, joyfully. When you're done, you pull him close to you, wrapping your arms around his broad build, burying your face in his neck. "I love you too, by the way," you share.

“Glad to hear it,” he responds. You can hear the smile in his voice. Suddenly, he’s hooking your legs around his waist and lifting you off the counter, carrying you out of the kitchen towards your bedroom.

You giggle, “Ash, what are you doing? Everyone’s gonna be here in less than an hour, we’ve got to set up!”

He shakes his head. “They can wait, I'd rather show you how much I love you.”

————-

The First Fight

“I honestly didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

“It’s just wild that you thought this would be uninteresting to me."

You take a deep breath. “I never said I didn’t think you’d be interested, I said I didn’t see why you were so upset, seeing as it wasn’t going to affect you at all,” you state as calmly as you can.

“My girlfriend moving across the country sure as fuck sounds like something that would affect me,” Ashton snipes.

“For a few months, during most of which you’ll be on tour,” you emphasize, patience beginning to wear. “Also love how you only ever call me your girlfriend when you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad, I’m disappointed.”

“There’s no way you actually just used that phrase right now, you’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

He huffs and begins pacing around the room while you sit on the couch, shaking your head. He borrowed your computer while you got ready for your date - which would have been fine except you’d left your email logged in, making him the inadvertent audience to new messages in a thread titled “NYC housing options.”

“You don’t even like your job,” he says incredulously.

“No, you don’t like my job,” you clarify.

“I don’t like how stressed and upset it makes you and I don’t understand why you’d want to devote months of extra hard work and more training for something that doesn’t even fulfill you,” he says matter of factly.

“The doors this could open for me have the potential to make my job more fulfilling - ” you start to explain.

He cuts you off, “Why don’t you just do something fulfilling in the first place?”

You purse your lips, getting angry. “Well, we can’t all be pure intentioned virtuoso artists like you, Ash.”

“Don’t be mean, I’m just trying to understand what’s happening,” he says, exasperated and scowling.

He sits on the opposite end of the couch, running a hand through his hair. You can tell he’s not just mad, he’s hurt. You’ve had fights before but they were trivial and easily resolved; this was something else entirely.

You inch closer to him. “I promise I wasn’t intentionally keeping it from you,” you say carefully. “I legitimately thought since it wasn’t a done deal that it didn’t matter. I’m just being considered for the program.”

Ashton toys with the rings on his fingers, avoiding your eyes. “But why wouldn’t you have told me it was even a possibility, why wouldn’t you have wanted to celebrate that your boss thought of you for this? If it’s something that exciting and important enough to you that you’re considering upending your life for it, why wouldn’t you want to share that with me?”

“I don’t know,” you confess. “...I guess I just didn’t think it was that serious.”

“It’s serious enough that you’re already looking at apartments,” he notes, jaw clenching.

You’re silent; he has a point.

You exhale slowly. “I think part of me was maybe afraid that something like this might happen,” you share quietly.

“So then you did keep it from me,” he accuses.

“No, I think I was just… procrastinating?” You lamely defend.

Ash is cool and eerily reserved as he responds, “Just to be clear: I’m not upset about your offer, I’m upset that you clearly don’t care enough to include me in the important parts of your life. I share everything with you.”

You blink in disbelief. “That’s not fair, you’re not listening to me at all.”

He shrugs, disinterested. “Tell me where I’m wrong.”

“Tell me you’re not just mad that I’ll be too busy to follow you around on tour like some starry-eyed groupie,” you toss out, irritated.

He scoffs, “At least the groupies are honest about what they want from me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep your hot, angry tears from falling; you refuse to let him see you cry. “You should leave,” you announce flatly.

“Gladly,” he agrees darkly, standing up. “I'd rather be anywhere else.”

————-

The Last Night

“Thank you for being here for this... you didn’t have to be."

“Of course I did, don’t be ridiculous,” Ashton says. “I want to help plus it'd be kind of shitty for me to let you do all this on your own.”

You shake your head appreciatively. “Yeah but going from literally stepping off of a tour bus to loading all my stuff into a moving van is a lot.”

“Well I didn’t literally do that, I drove my own car here,” he jokes.

“You’re the absolute worst,” you deadpan.

“I’ve heard that before,” he grins.

You stick your tongue out at him and then yelp as he grabs you by the waist, wrapping you in his arms, pressing an absurd amount of kisses to your face.

Giggling, you escape from his embrace and go back to stacking the boxes left in the room, making sure everything is correctly labeled and sealed with tape.

"What room do you want this sorted into?" Ash asks, holding up a bag filled with various tubes of lotion.

You squint, trying to see which products are inside. "Uh… that can be bathroom," you direct, pointing to a box to his left.

He holds up a stack of plastic novelty cups. "Kitchen?"

You shake your head. "I actually use those on my desk - that box is over here." He passes them to you and you blow a kiss in response.

You both quietly continue organizing but you keep feeling Ash's eyes on you, studying your demeanor. Finally, he asks, "So… last night in your very own LA apartment… how are you feeling?"

You honestly hadn't stopped to ask yourself that question yet so you use this moment to take a break and ponder your feelings. You flop yourself onto the bare mattress that’s been left in the middle of the room for you to sleep on and stare at the ceiling.

"...Fine? I mean, it's weird," you share, sorting through your thoughts. "Obviously I've lived other places but this… y'know… this move feels different."

He smiles softly at you and sits on the edge of the mattress. "That's because it is," he states. "Bigger milestone, bigger plans…" He mindlessly digs through a box by the bed, you reach out and lightly rub his back.

"Definitely bigger as far as how much I'm moving - how do I have so much stuff?" You joke, gesturing around the room.

He snorts. "I was thinking the same thing," he teases. "See, I should've asked you to move in with me as soon as you got back from New York last year. You could've made do with just what you had in that small ass apartment, problem solved."

You laugh heartily, your exhaustion and excitement making his joke a lot funnier than it actually is. You check your phone for the time and sigh. "Think we should call it, babe. We can finish up in the morning."

He sets aside the box he was looking through. "Well we already packed up your TV and stereo, what do you want to do for the rest of the night? It's still kind of early," he shrugs.

“What’s the opposite of christening a place?” You coyly ask, striking a pose. “Because I vote we do that.”

Ashton smirks, moving to lay beside you on the bed. “Nothing I’d rather do.”

————-

@mymindwide​ @suchalonelysunflower​ @pxrxmoore​ @loveroflrh​ @ghostofmashton​ @sexgodashton​ @feliznavidaddycal​  @castaway-cashton​ @boomerash​ @cashtonasfuck​ @megz1985​ @ashdork-irwin​ @ashtonangst​ @angelicfluffs​ @findingliam-o​ @abadaftertaste​ @youngbloodchild​  @irwinsbetch​ @ashsun​ @everyscarisahealingplace​

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Click here if you’d like to be tagged for future fics and click here if your name is on my list but crossed out (Tumblr won’t let me @ you)

[uarcana]

Somber Eyes

Warning: None.

Word Count: 945

OC’s: Aoi Tamahagane & Silver Heiwa (mentioned)

A light sigh released from the man’s lungs as he pressed “End Call”.

His back firm against the couch, his arms draped over the back.

“Why is it that I can’t find a moment of peace in my life?”, the man groaned in irritation. His eyebrow twitching at the tedious administrative affair he just had to endure.

A simple meeting about future activities of students that didn’t get their hero licenses quickly turned into an inescapable 6 hour Nezu special.

The delighted purring of the affection feline on his lap relaxed him only slight as he rested his head against the back of the couch.

Eyes shut in an attempt to clear his mind.

“Well, well”, a soft voice entered the room after a click of the front door, the feline’s ears standing at attention, “I think I can get used to not being a teacher”.

Aoi playfully smirked at the man as she hung her coat. A soft trill floated from the happy Sake as she stretched against the man’s lap, leaping from the couch toward her owner.

Aizawa, on the other hand, not experiencing the same level of enthusiasm. A nerve pulsating against his temple. “As my assistant, you are actually meant to be present for these”.

“Well”, her voice lowered in clear disappointment, “I had a previous engagement”.

Noticing an opened whiskey bottle in her hand as she made her way to the kitchen to grab a glass, Aizawa’s frustrations simmered.

“I noticed Silver wasn’t present either…I’m guessing you two were together”.

“Yeah…”, she admitted, “just needed a little liquid courage…y’know for the media circus that’s about to trample us down the street for the next few weeks”.

With a sigh, Aizawa ross from his seat.

The defeated Aoi leaned against the counter, her glass filled nearly to the brim.

“Hey…”, Aizawa gently stroked her arm before she could take a sip, “…what happened wasn’t you or Silver’s fault. Both of them have a lot to learn about themselves that neither of you will be able to show them through mere training. This is something they’ll have to work through if they want to excel”.

“Like I did…?”

Aoi’s somber eyes glossed over in shame.

“Not like he has a very good influence, honestly”, she chuckled as she smirked toward her drink, lifting it to her lips. “I still don’t even know if it was a good idea for me to train him”.

“You’re the only one that can really appeal to him in a way that even Endeavor can’t. Your knowledge of mineral properties and cellular development can help him strengthen the control over his quirk and-“.

“That’s not what I meant, Mr. Rational”, the woman rolled her eyes at the man.

Aizawa sighed. Her glass now empty.

“…I’m not you…or Silver or Nemuri”, she softly vented. “I…I’m just a fuckin’ mess and…let’s face it, the Todoroki’s are a mess…Shoto’s probably the biggest mess…what am I supposed to do to help him through all of that? It’s not like I even got my hero license”.

“That doesn’t make you any less of a hero than either of them”, the man lightly shrugged.

Aoi was silent.

“You think Silver’s only here to teach Bakugo how to blow up bad guys? That’s not why he failed”, Aizawa explained. “You understand him more than any of his friend…what makes you the most rational source of encouragement is the fact that you have that in common with him”. 

Aoi’s eyes shifted toward the purring Sake rubbing against her ankle.

“…I don’t want him to be like me”, Aoi softly whispered.

“Why not?”

She looked toward him in confusion.

“You have incredible drive to saving lives which is the fundamental basis of every hero. Albeit reckless on occasion, but with a quirk like yours, you are able to take risks that most heroes are not able due to physical vulnerability…not unlike Todoroki. The only thing you have that he doesn’t…you never have a concrete depiction of your limits…because you constantly push and exceed them which is something he needs to learn. Your abilities exceed some pros...in heroics and in heart…”, the man stepped closer.

“He’s lucky to have you as a mentor”.

A harmonic trill from the loving Sake brought a light smile to the woman’s face as she returned her gaze to the man.

“And they say flattery gets you nowhere”, Aoi lightly joked receiving a small chuckle from the man.

“You seem to like it”.

“Yeah, well…coming from you, it’s quite the achievement”.

Glancing toward the mostly full bottle in her fist, Aizawa lightly gestured toward it.

“What’re you gonna do with that?”

A light sigh slid from Aoi’s throat, “well, it would be a shame to let it go to waste…”, she replied before lifting it toward him.

“…want some?”

Hours later…

A light vibration startled a sleeping Sake awake, stretching her limbs before making her way to Shota’s phone.

A text from Midnight prominent on the screen.

“Aizawa…I know you’re probably busy, but please let me know if you’ve heard from Aoi. She and Silver weren’t present for tonight’s meeting and I’m worried they could be taking the licensing exam a little too hard. If you’re able to talk to her, I’d really appreciate it…if she’ll listen to anyone, it would be you”.

A light nudge with her paw, the device plummeted to the carpet by the now empty whiskey before the fluffy feline made her way to the bedroom.

Leaping on the bed to settle on the side of the unconscious hero cuddling her owner as she used his chest as a pillow.

His subtle heartbeat promising her pleasant dreams.

Tagging: @digitalkanvas​ @completelyinappropriate​ @aquathemermaidstripper​ @glacian-apocalypse​

[yuki7900archive]

Movie!Nya x Female Reader Part 6

6 Parts. Wow. Well I hope you enjoyed this. I love it and worked real hard on it, so I’m quite proud of how it has turned out. Now if you’ll excuse me it’s like 1AM so I’m gonna go collapse.

You and Nya were cuddled up in the corner of your cage, you having now dried off due to the heat of the volcano (again, pros and cons). The girl stroked your hair as you lay in her arms, sniffing softly.

"I'm so sorry..." You whispered to her.

"It's okay, ya' didn't know he had cameras."

"I should've known. Of course he has security cameras, why wouldn't he have them?"

"Hey," She spoke softly to you, cupping your cheek and tilting your head to look up at her. "Cut yourself some slack, it's your first day. We all make mistakes."

You sighed and sat up, folding your arms across your chest and looking down at the bumpy rock flooring. You felt your fingers along the pitch black rock, feeling the dents and scuffs. "I couldn't fight off all those generals to stop you from getting captured. In a fit of rage I ignored everything our friends were trying to warn me about and ran off, stealing your mech and then falling into the trap of allowing Garmadon to have an even bigger upper hand. Now he has two ninja instead of just one and it's all my fault." Your voice wavered and cracked as you spoke, so angry with yourself at being so reckless and stupid. "Maybe I'm not cut out to be a Ninja. Wu is probably so mad with me."

You felt your girlfriend crawl up behind you and kiss your cheek. She sat directly behind you, hugging your waist and pulling your body in to press against hers. "You aren't the first person on the team to go mental and risk everything for another teammate." She told you.

"My brother? Man, he's a total hot head. Even to this day I have to hold him back from punching someone at school when they throw something at Lloyd or stick a note on his back. Like, sure, he's super encouraging and a friendly person, but hurt Lloyd or me and WHOO boy are ya' as good as dead." You laughed a little, resting your head back on Nya's shoulder and placing your hands atop hers.

"Cole's risked giving Garmadon this magical sword in return for Jay's safety. Thankfully Garmadon was too distracted to notice Zane firing ice arrows at his mech and basically screwing up all the wiring inside his mech's hand so Jay was released before the guy could crush him. Lloyd managed to catch him."

"I'm sorry, magical sword?" You raised a brow.

"Yeah, this like, sword let you see what your opponents next move was gonna be so you could counter it. It was awesome but after we accidentally broke Zane's arm off, Wu decided we weren't mature enough to be responsible over it and sent it to another realm or something." That made you snort and giggle, shaking your head and closing your eyes.

"See? We're all stupid, don't beat yourself up about it." She joked, gently kissing your cheek again.

"Yeah, Alright, heh. Point made." It went quiet between you as you both just sat and cuddled one another. Despite the situation you both just wanted to make the most of this time you had. Your mind wandered a little and images of the water tank came up again, making you frown at the memories of being unable to breathe. You shifted a little and bit you lip.

"Hey, Nya?" She hummed, telling you that he was listening. "What did you tell Garmadon?"

"When?"

"When I was in that tank. What did he want from you?" She paused and sighed a little. You could feel her nuzzle the back of your neck, gently pecking your skin.

"He wanted me to tell him where this weapon he's looking for is. I couldn't give him an answer because I don't know. That's why he..." She took a deep breath and her grip got tighter. You gently skimmed your thumbs over her knuckles. "I told him Wu had a map to its location and that's all I knew. He didn't believe me at first which is why he flooded the tank quicker. He only stopped when I told him where Wu put the map."

You pulled from Nya's hold and hugged her, reaching your hand up to the bobble in her hair and tugging it loose, letting her black hair fall down past her shoulders. You put the bobble on your wrist and began softly raking your hands through her locks. "It'll be okay Nya. The Ninja are there to protect the bounty."

"Not if they come after you." She replied. Ah. You didn't think of that. You didn't reply back, simply hugging your girlfriend and praying that everything would turn out okay in the end.

Some more time passed. It felt like forever but in reality it was a mere ten minutes. Who knew being a prisoner would be so boring, even when you were with your girlfriend. Since you were sat by the cage bars, you began kicking them with the side of your shoes. Nya chuckled a little.

"Bored?"

"So bored." She smirked.

"I know what we could do to pass the time~" You blushed furiously and glared.

"We are in a bad guys lair with cameras watching us." You rolled your eyes but grinned anyway.

"Let's put a show on for them. Maybe they'll let us go~" you laughed rather loudly and playfully hit Nya's arm. She grinned back and pecked your cheeks with an abundance of kisses.

"Stop being gross! You're just as dirty as Kai." You wrapped your arms around her neck and giggled as she finally stopped kissing your cheeks.

"I'm only messing. You know I'd never force you."

"I know." You smiled.

"I'm sure we'll be out of here soon." The ravenette reassured you. She pressed your foreheads together and stared into your (E/C) hues, holding your face gently in the palm of her hands.

"Can't your powers help us get out of here?" Nya blinked and furrowed her brows with a smirk.

"How? My element is water." You shrugged.

"Ya know, erosion and stuff." It was quiet for about two seconds, Nya's eyes widening and her smirk turning into a huge grin as she burst out laughing. You watched as she couldn't contain her laughs, dragging her fingers through her fringe as she shook her head. "What? Would that not work?"

"I-I mean—" She stopped to laugh a little more. "I guess it would but, it would take many many years. More than our lifetime." You felt embarrassed by your suggestion and blushed considerably.

"So...you're saying it could work?" Your joke made her laugh harder and she kissed you on the lips. It wasn't a small one like usual, rather a long one. You two hadn't gotten much further than pecking before now. You certainly weren't complaining.

"I'm so lucky to have you as my girlfriend." She muttered with a happy and loving smile. You averted your gaze to the floor as you felt flustered under her stare. "Man, If Cole were here he could easily smash through these bars."

"Heh, yeah..." A few seconds passed by with you too sat quietly. Nya sighed dramatically.

"Damn, I really thought that would work. It does in the movies." You giggled along with her.

"If only that's how it worked. We really need to get out of here—"

Suddenly a vent panel smashed down from the ceiling outside your cell and clattered against the floor. You had jumped and hugged Nya as she held you and chuckled. A small rock was thrown and hit the camera just outside your cell, causing that to also snap and fall to the ground. The other ravenette dropped down from the hole with a smirk on his face. "Sup fellow gays."

"Damn it Cole, you couldn't have come down like five seconds earlier when we we literally just talking about you being able to smash us out? The timing would've been amazing."

"Yeah, Cole! Then you could've been all like "someone say my name?" and it would've been awesome." You playfully scowled as he put his hands on his hips, tilting his head.

"I'm sorry, want me to break you two out or not?" You shuffled to the side and the boy nodded, raising his fists and cracking his knuckles before punching the metal. As the boy did that, Nya retrieved her bobble back from you and tied her hair back in its signature ponytail. A few heavy hits and a hole was made in the cell door, enabling you and Nya to crawl out. Cole helped both you and her get out before shaking his fists. "Right, come on, we gotta get that mech."

All three of you left the cell room, taking out each security camera as you went along to prevent detection. You snuck around all of the general's easily enough, managing to get in the elevator and get to the next floor above. You all stood with arms crossed as you rode up.

"Where are the others?" Nya asked Cole.

"Distracting Garmadon. Wu brought the map that you told him about." He explained and you panicked a little.

"But if he gets that weapon, won't we all be screwed?" Cole snorted and shook his head.

"Not when Wu already has the weapon. He's sending him on a wild goose chase." You laughed.

"Awesome. Then, why did you need to sneak us out?"

"You really think Garmadon would let you go even after we give him the map? Anyone else, sure, but you're a part of the Ninja Squad. That's invaluable to him."

"The irritating thing about Garm is he's a one hundred and something year old that acts like a small child, but when it comes to evil he can be so damn good at it." Nya growled and held you closely. "Which is why I'm never letting you get in his hands again."

"Alright, now isn't the time to be smooth Nya." Cole said as the elevator binged and signalled your arrival on the next floor. You all got ready for any battles that might be headed your way. There was the odd general, and as you and Nya took care of those, Cole smashed the cameras in the hall.

You ran along, heading back to that spot where you had originally came in from and squeezing through the spot alongside Nya. Cole didn't follow after you. "I'd better head back to the others before Garmadon realises I didn't ask to go use the bathroom and instead busted you out."

"Wow, what a lame way of getting away." You commented.

"It worked, didn't it!? He's evil smart, not smart smart." The ravenette argued back. "Anyway you two make your way back to the warehouse. We'll catch up with you guys there."

With that he ran off, Nya taking your hand in hers and tugging you along. You both hastily made your way to Nya's mech, thankful to see it was still in tact and hadn't been touched since your arrival. The girl helped you inside, sitting herself down in her chair and getting comfy before you had taken a seat on her lap. She smirked and you knew already what was coming.

"Well, hello gorgeous~"

"You can't do this when we're back at the warehouse? Safe and sound with no worries of being spotted?" You were grinning despite her constant flirting. She rolled her eyes and shut the window/door of the Water Strider, booting up the engine and dropping you both down into the ocean below. She flicked a few buttons and began making her way back to the main land.

"I can't believe you drove this all by yourself." Your girlfriend commented as she set the thing on auto pilot. "Smart and beautiful—"

"I'm sorry," You interrupted her as she clung to you. The girl blinked and stopped speaking, curious as to why you had such a look on your face. "There's auto pilot?"

"Yeah. In case the journey is long, or I gotta rest or something." She pulled you close and kissed your cheek. "But you did a great job getting here by yourself. I'm super proud of you."

You sighed and shut you eyes, groaning and snuggling close to Nya as you tried not to focus on the fact you were yet again stuck in a container only this time with water surrounding the outside. You could have put it on auto pilot this whole time. You felt like such an idiot. She chuckled a little, one arm wrapped around you waist whilst the placed itself on your thigh. You tensed momentarily before relaxing, humming softly as she held you gently. "What an eventful day huh?"

"Yeah," you chuckled tiredly. "Real eventful."

- - -

You and your girlfriend were cuddling on the couch when the others arrived back. They all stood and debated whether or not he wake you both up, to which Lloyd responded by getting Zane to fill a bucket with ice, Kai to melt it, got Zane to cool it as much as he could without freezing it, then threw the water on the both of you. You shrieked and fell off the sofa as Nya sat upright in shock.

"Three times?! Are you serious right now?" You angrily growled to the floor. "Nya I don't think water likes me."

She giggled and rolled her eyes, realising the rest of the team were back. They did not look happy. Nya winced and walked over to you to help you off the floor. "Guys go easy on her. We're both okay now, yeah? That's what matters."

"But you might not have been." Kai walked over to the pair of you, looking extremely upset. "That's the point."

Before either you or Nya could argue back, he engulfed the two of you in a big hug and held you close to him. You and Nya looked at each other before wrapping your arms around him. "I thought I'd lost you both, don't scare me like that."

The others came over and joined the group hug, all of you huddled together, you and Nya in the centre. You had never felt more warmth and love from a group of people before. They weren't just your friends anymore. They were practically your family. You couldn't stop the wide smile on your face from spreading.

"You two are soaking." Kai noted as you all pulled away from one another.

"Oh really bro? I wonder why." Nya grabbed her sibling in a headlock, messing up his hair as he screamed and tried to batt her off. He was still laughing though, both of them were.

You glanced over at Lloyd, who was watching the siblings play fight with a grin on his face. It was always funny to watch those two together. Rubbing the back of your neck, you scooted closer to him and tapped his shoulder to gain his attention. "Hey uh....I'm sorry for not listening to you and snapping like I did. That wasn't cool of me."

The blonde blinked and sighed, a smile still on his face as she shook his head and gave you a quick hug. "It's alright. You're back now. And at least your both okay."

Maybe physically. Mentally that water tank was still kind of messing with your head.

"(Y/N)," you heard Wu's voice call you from behind, grabbing both yours and Lloyd's attention. "Can I speak to you?"

The old man didn't seem angry, didn't seem too upset either. But he didn't look overly happy. You glanced at your blonde friend nervously as he motioned for you to go with him. His smile comforted you a bit as you made your way over to Wu. You both walked over to the Bounty to chat privately.

"I'm sorry Master Wu. I really let you down today." You apologised quietly, rubbing your left arm and biting your lip as you looked down at the wooden deck you were stood on.

"How so?" He inquired.

"By running off like that. I put Nya and myself in danger. I could have died today because I didn't listen to the others."

"That is true." He nodded his head, placing a gentle hand on your back. "However, every decision we make is a learning curve. I do not think you realise how much you have grown in the past month since becoming a part of the Ninja Force."

"Grown?" You raised a brow.

"Yes. The old you would have never done something like this. You'd let the fear control you and take over, cause you to panic and freeze. I imagine you were still afraid, but did it stop you?" You watched Wu for a few seconds, fiddling your fingers as you thought to yourself.

"No." You smiled a little. "No it didn't."

"Exactly! I'll admit that running head first into that situation was not the best way to handle it. But you've changed. Changed in a good way." The teacher continued his speech as he lead you to the wooden banisters of the Bounty. "You will make mistakes as you grow. If you didn't, what would be the point in learning anything? So as much as this was a bad call, a very very bad call, it tells me we are heading in the right direction."

You kept your gaze locked into Wu as he spoke to you, feeling rather happy with his words. So, what he was saying was, you were still a part of the team? You really hoped that's what he was saying. Based on the implications of his words that meant he still had a lot he wanted to teach to you. You couldn't wait to learn all of it.

"You should go home. You're mother will be extremely worried about you." Ah, of course! Your mom was gonna kill you. You gave a quick nod to Master Wu.

"Yes, I'll head home right away. Thank you Master." You began running off the ship and quickly stopped by the warehouse to say goodbye to everyone before rushing home. God you were gonna have to think up a really good lie as to why you were back so late at night.

- - -

Your mother had tackled you the moment you'd opened the door and revealed yourself. She was sobbing horrifically as she held you in her arms, going on and on about how she thought you were dead. You had rolled your eyes but hugged her back anyway, knowing she probably needed it. You told her that you and Nya had been evacuating the city when you were cornered and captured by a bunch of Garmadon's men. You'd been saved by the Ninja Force and they'd returned you and your girlfriend to safety.

"You got captured?! Oh!" She held you tighter. "My baby girl! You weren't hurt were you?"

"N-No." You lied. You didn't particularly want to relive the memories of drowning in air tight rectangular death box. Besides, she would probably freak out even more if you did tell her. "Nya took care of me."

Your mum pulled away, a suggestive grin on her face. You internally sighed and groaned. "Ooh~ Nya took care of you, ey?"

"Mom, come on—"

"What did Nya do, huh? Did she hold you in her arms and say," She hugged you and began speaking dramatically.

"Do not fear, my love, I shall protect you from all harm that shall come your way! Thine beasts shan't lay their hands on thee! "

"Mom, she's my girlfriend, not a character from a Shakespearian play." You heard your mother laugh before she kissed your forehead and grip your shoulders as she pulled away to look you in the eyes. She had a warm smile on her face.

"I'm happy you've found someone, (Y/N)." She stated. "She seems to bring out the best in you." You smiled back at her before bringing her in for the third hug in the past two minutes.

"I love you mom."

"I love you too." She kissed your hair and rubbed your back. "Come on, lets order a takeout and watch some TV."

After everything that had happened you had spent the next couple of days training as hard as you could. You were determined to make everybody proud. Your team, Master Wu, your girlfriend especially. She liked your enthusiasm a great deal, prepared to train at the dojo with you all day if that's what you wanted to do. You'd spar together all the time and on occasion mid way through a match she'd find an opening and tackle you into a hug, attacking you with kisses and lots of affection. You'd giggle and whine playfully but you didn't mind truthfully. It was quite cute. Kai would tell you to get a room, and Nya would respond by either telling her brother to go away, or by picking you up and carrying you.

"If you need us, we'll be in the closet." You'd laugh audibly and she would carry you away. You would not be seen for at least fifteen minutes.

You were still extremely embarrassed by what you'd done. You had continued to apologise to everyone, despite how many times they told you that it was fine and you needed to stop feeling guilty. They knew when you were thinking about it too, as you pulled a certain face when those thoughts were swimming about in your mind. They'd pinch or flick you, then tell you to stop thinking about it. It usually helped, more so if they distracted you with something.

Chen was still annoying. That did not surprise you that much. You recalled the one time you were stood in the hallway chatting with the guys when Nya had snuck up behind you and spooked you. She put an arm on your waist and pulled you close to her, giving you a quick kiss and making you blush.

"Great, now the dorks are dating each other. What next?" Chen had sneered from across the corridor, making Nya turn and smirk at him.

"Don't be jealous Chen. Just because I'm getting what you no girl will give you." That shut him up quick. You had blushed horribly but also laughed really, really hard.

Remember how I said at the start of the story that moving sucks? Well...granted yeah, it does still suck. But it's great too! You get the chance to meet new people, grow as a person, blah, blah blah, blah blah blah. I think you already know what I'm trying to say here. But look, starting new isn't always bad, yeah? So next time you're given the chance to go somewhere new, don't dismiss it completely. You never know, it might be the greatest decision you ever make.

[serenitysnow6]

Chapter One

Three Days later…    

     “You’re quiet,” Kallie Checkwing commented from across the table of the small café on the east side of town.

     Somali looked up from the drink she was stirring the melting ice around in to give Kallie a small smile. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

     “Talk to me,” she said, reaching across to put her hand on Somali’s wrist. Kallie’s warm gaze was all the encouragement she needed.

     “I’m thinking about leaving my job at Whitehead Pharm.”

     Kallie’s brows lifted, and her eyes widened. “Are you serious? I thought you loved your job.”

     That was the party line, but she hadn’t loved her job in a very long time.

     She sighed. “I like some aspects of my job, but not where it’s going.”

     “What do you like best?” Kallie asked leaning toward her.

     “The research, the healing,” Somali admitted.

     “Then, why don’t you go to work for the clinic here?” Kallie asked with a shrug. “You could do what you love, and I’d see even more of you.”

      Somali smiled. She’d known Kallie as a child when her family had lived here after returning from New York. When the pharm company took off, they moved to the city keeping the house here as their weekend home.

     Two years ago, she and Kallie had reconnected at a café in the city, and they’d grown to be good friends again. When Kallie moved back home, Somali had had a valid reason for coming here every weekend.

     Getting to know Kallie again, Somali realized just how much she wanted the friendship to flourish. She liked having someone to talk to, to spend time with.

     “I enjoy our time together too,” Somali admitted. “But I’m going to talk to mother first. She and my father have shares in the company. Plus, there’s the Circle Wellness Center to consider.”

     The center was a health spa borne of the pharm company. Her parents managed the thriving spa, and they now had locations in fifty cities. Somali often created treatments for use at the center.

     “They’re big boys and girls,” Kallie told her gently. “They can do this without you. Besides, I’m sure they’d want you to be happy.”

     Somali snorted. “They want me under their thumbs.” She just didn’t want to live like that anymore.

     “They might have an adjustment problem, but they’ll get past it.” She grinned.

     Somali nodded slowly, her heart quickening with the excitement of new prospects. “It’s probably a chance worth taking.”

     “I’m not the only one you’ll get to see more of if you move to town full time,” Kallie teased.

     “What?” she asked, her voice a little high-pitched with surprise.

     “Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Kallie said, eyes dancing merrily. “You are always eating her up with your eyes.”

     “Who?” Somali asked incredulously, her cheeks a little hot.

     “Oh, don’t play dumb with me. You know darn well who I’m talking about.” Kallie’s gaze darted past her, and she grinned. “Well, here she comes now.”

     Somali jerked around to see a couple of tall women striding toward their table. The dark-skinned woman was attractive, but her friend, the blonde was even more so.

     Peta Goldenherst was her dream woman—all long legs and hard, toned body. Her short dark blonde hair was cut in a gamine that gleamed golden in the sunlight.

    Peta’s gaze held hers, and Somali shivered, her wings wanting to emerge and flutter, to show off the vibrant colors and the lacy lilac edge that was like a frame.  

   The wings, the color, the shape, and the designs on them were little more than plumage for seduction during courting. Sometimes the designs could be seen on the butterfly’s back during mating season.

     “Ahem,” Kallie cleared her throat and Somali faced her, her face flaming. “You were saying?”

     “Shut up, Kal,” she muttered, and Kallie laughed.

     “Hello, girls,” Sienna, Kallie’s mate said as she slipped into the chair next to Kallie.

     “Hi honey,” Kallie said giving her a smile, and Somali looked away feeling like a voyeur.

     “Hi, gorgeous,” Peta murmured after taking the seat next to her. “How’s it going?”

     “Hi,” she said keeping her gaze focused on the bridge of Peta’s nose.

     “I’m surprised to see you in town in the middle of the week. Is it a holiday?”

     The teasing in Peta’s tone brought a smile to Somali’s face. “I just came to spend the day with Kallie,” she said.

     “Are you girls having a good time then?” Peta asked.

     “Fine. A little lunch,” Somali said looking at her glass.

     “Doesn’t look like you ordered much,” Sienna said.

     “We were thinking we’d keep it light,” Kallie replied. “What are you guys up to?”

     “Lunch break,” Sienna answered. “Are you going to be here for dinner, Somali?”

     “Yes, but I have some work to finish up.”

     “That’s too bad,” Sienna said. “I was hoping you’d join us for some playtime at the club tonight.”

     The sex club.

    She enjoyed doing scenes there, but Peta was the only one she really wanted to touch her these days. So, Somali didn’t go on as regular a basis as she used to.

     “That is too bad,” Peta commented, her thigh brushing Somali’s under the table.

     Somali shivered from the touch but forced her gaze to remain on her drink. Peta always left her flustered and wet, nipples hard. Right now, was no exception.

     “Some other time then,” Sienna said.

     “Actually, she’ll have dinner with us some other time,” Kallie said giving Sienna a look from beneath her lashes.

     “Fine,” Sienna said. “For now.”

     What did that mean?

     Somali was afraid to ask, but she’d heard Sienna and her friends liked to share their women. She just didn’t think Sienna was still into that now that she had Kallie.

     “Somali might not have the stomach for our games,” Peta said. “So, leave her alone, Sienna.” Peta winked at her, and Somali’s breath caught as their stare held.

    “Whatever you say,” Sienna said and held up her hand to signal for the waiter. “Peta, I guess you and Tas will have to go without us tonight.”

   Peta shrugged. “I’m sure Tas will have no objections to that. She said you’re becoming more of a killjoy everyday,” Peta teased.

  “Whatever,” Sienna grumbled, and Peta chuckled. Her entire face became even more gorgeous, her blue eyes dancing.

   Somali was glad they’d let the subject drop because the only woman she wanted was right next to her.

                                                              ****

   “Do you have time to do a little shopping with me?” Kallie asked after lunch.

   “Sure. The weekend is all mine.”

    “Great. Why don’t you follow me over?” Kallie asked.

    “Okay.”

     They made their way to the parking lot and to their cars. Once in her little four door Kia, Somali started the engine and followed Kallie to a mini mall of shops in the middle of town.

    She hadn’t bought anything new in a long time, but her mother picked most of her evening wear on the pretext of knowing what was best for her. Somali was tired of that. It made her feel like she was a visitor in her own life.

    They strolled into the shop which was nearly empty on this Friday afternoon. The two sales clerks were behind the checkout counter with bored expressions on their faces as they surveyed the store.

    “Good afternoon, ladies.” The brunette rounded the counter wearing a cheerful smile. “Can I help you with something?”

   “We’re just browsing for now,” Kallie said. “Thanks.”

   “Let me know if you change your mind,” she said.

    “We will,” Kallie replied, and they browsed the store heading for the lingerie section.

    “Sienna always picks out my underwear, but I’ve decided to surprise her.”

    “Don’t you hate that?” She wrinkled her nose.

    “Why would I?” Kallie asked. “She has good taste. Plus, Sienna likes surprising me.” She laughed. “What do you think about these?”

     Kallie held up a pair of black panties that Somali was sure would cover very little.

    “I don’t know.” She didn’t wear thongs or anything like it. “I’m going to check out the dresses.” She wandered off, her mind on the things in her own underwear drawer.

    Nothing she owned was racy or revealing. Her panties were functional and pretty just like the rest of her clothes.

    Maybe an upgrade would be nice. No one would see her panties though.

    But they’d be something pretty just for you.

  Somali started to head back over and was taken by a cute little dress. It was a simple red dress with a calf length skirt.

  “It’s on sale,” the sales associate told her. “It would look great on you too, with your coloring. Put your hair up and you’d be a knock-out.”

   Somali looked at her. “It’s on sale?”

   The woman smiled. “Yep. Come take a look at the lingerie that’s on sale. There is a red and white bra and panty set that will make your man’s eyes pop out of his head.”

    Somali followed her over to the table. The woman held up the set before picking out a few more. Somali found herself taking all four sets along with the dress.

    The shopping excursion lasted three hours, and Somali was surprised at the things she’d selected from the other boutiques they’d checked out after leaving the first. She didn’t have anyone to admire her in them but that might change she was moving back to town.

    After getting them home she removed the tags and washed the lingerie while hanging the clothes.

    She started to run a bath and the doorbell rang. She quickly went to answer it finding a delivery man. He gave her a friendly smile.

    “Hi,” he said. “I have a package for Somali Greentree.”

    “That’s me.”

    “Great.” He grinned. “Sign here.” He held up a clipboard.

     She signed, and he handed her a small package.

    “Have a nice evening,” he said and gave her a nod before striding back out to his truck.

     Somali frowned and took the item to her bedroom. She went to start her bath and added bath oil to the water before going into her spacious pale copper and white bedroom.

     She unwrapped the package finding a neatly folded noted attached to the velvet box top.

     Unfolding it, she read it.

     Hello beautiful,

    I saw this after seeing your dazzling smile and knew I had to get it for you. I hope this brightens up your day as thinking of you lights up mine.

    XO

    Somali grinned, her stomach fluttering. She knew who she wanted her secret admirer to be, but she wouldn’t bet her life on it.

    Lifting the lid, a diamond encrusted heart surrounded by red rose petals winked up at her. The tiny charm would clip nicely onto the link chain of the memory locket bracelet she’d received from the same admirer.

    “Lovely,” she said softly. “Thank you. Whoever you are.” This person had no idea how cherished they made her feel.

    “Hey, sis,” her older brother Palin called from the corridor. “I’m going out. Be back later.”

     “Have fun,” she called. She’d be settling down with her research notes for the night after her hot bath and wishing she was spending the evening in Peta’s company.

[multsicorn]

fic: how do you make it for real (zimbits, 1/5)

for @queersherlockian, the first chapter of my much-belated @fandomtrumpshateaction fic  this chapter is ~5k words, rated g, but there’s much more, and porn, to come.  also here on ao3.

Jack Zimmermann's an adjunct history professor at Samwell University. Bitty works at Annie's, at the start of what's now his second year after graduation.

And they both want more than what they have. Not love, but a step up that ladder to professional success that sometimes seems hard to even find....

They'll take love, though, if it comes.

Jack Zimmermann's life is built from routines. People think that he's boring, but he likes it, the way that each block of his day slots neatly into the next. He appreciates predictability, he hates to be left at loose ends, and even though he hasn't played a game of hockey in years, he'll probably live by the locker-room code of habit and superstition for the rest of his life.

Samwell University seems nice. Professor Atley, the newly-appointed head of the History Department, is brisk but genuinely welcoming in what's now their second time meeting. As an adjunct at Samwell, she tells him, he'll be teaching three lower-level classes. She hopes that he'll also find some time to get started on his first book, the time that he couldn't (he'd confessed to the committee) seem to find or make last year in Virginia, which he knows for both threat and encouragement. He's grateful, always, for the welcome, and still worried that he'll come up short.

The grounds are pleasant, relaxing, all red brick and green lawns and wide paths. They look like nothing more than a brochure come to life, and Jack would move into the center of a glossy paper tri-fold if only he could work towards a tenure-track position there.

His schedule, gridded out, shows a clear block between 3:00 and 4:30. If he can find somewhere to sit and work and maybe eat, he should be able to use that block of time to make progress on writing a book a little bit every day. Crossing the street that separates campus from a straggling gap-toothed line of restaurants and stores, he fetches up in front of a cozy coffee shop. The sign in the window says it's called Annie's, and the door promises that it's open till 8 p.m. every night.

_X_

Within the first few weeks of the semester, Annie's has definitively become Jack's favorite place to work, ever. His office is amazing because it's all his, the best place to squirrel away books and papers, but there's always a danger of distraction when he tries to get work done there. Camilla, the smartest adjunct in the department, stops by several times a day for quick breaks to chat about nothing. Chris Chow appears at at all times of day and night just in case, he says, Jack's there, and Jack's never learned how to turn away a student who actually wants to learn. But he has other work he needs to get done. And Annie's has decent coffee, and a daily rotating selection of the best pies he's ever tasted, anywhere, in his life, and, most importantly, no one who ever wants to talk to him. He buries himself there in the writings of the war in peace.

Or, when he's stuck, he can look around. Just every once in a while, he'll catalog the pairs of girls in glossy high ponytails talking to each another, the gray-haired men and women who've claimed the few armchairs in the shop with their paperbacks, the laptop users, the phone-players-with, the interview that's always in progress. The population, though its characteristics remain stable, changes in individual composition from day to day. Only two people (besides himself) are consistently present: a petite Asian girl with an awesome sidecut, who's always either drawing or painting, and Cute Blond Boy.

He'd worried at first that the girl was drawing the coffee shop's patrons. It seems like the obvious reason to draw there, to take advantage of all the subjects to sketch, so Jack couldn't have blamed her in fairness. But he skulks around behind the back of her table enough times, anyway, to see that her artwork is abstract. So then he's relieved, and just a bit guilty at feeling that now he's the one who's overstepped.

Cute Blond Boy is more of a problem. He could almost just be another of the phone-players-with, except that more often than not he's sitting at the coffee shop's long wooden bar, and chatting in between customers with whoever's working behind the counter that day. Jack couldn't figure out what he talks about over the general level of ambient noise, even if he were eavesdropping, which he'd never do. Sometimes Cute Blond Boy even sits at same table as the girl who does the paintings, and Jack doesn't know if they know each other from anywhere besides this coffee shop. Which is to say: Jack doesn't know whether to hope or to fear that any day now Cute Blond Boy will sit his cute ass down next to him, and just start talking as if they're friends.

_X_

It's in the middle of October when the trees are putting on Samwell red and the first round of midterms is busy kicking just about everyone's ass that Jack arrives at Annie's and orders his customary large light roast coffee 'and a slice of today's special pie' before he notices that Cute Blond Boy is manning the register.

"That'll be $8.31," Eric says. His name is Eric, his nametag says.

"So you work here now?" Jack says, brilliantly. Eric keeps holding out his hand, which - right. Credit card. Jack can't believe he forgot something so basic.

Eric takes it with a lift of his perfectly groomed eyebrows. "I've been working here for years," he says. "Usually I'm in the back. I'm just filling in for my friend Dex today, 'cause he says that his project won't compile - don't even ask me what that means, I don't know - but he's usually here on Wednesdays. And, hold on a sec, can you sign this."

Jack does so without comment.

"So, you like pie?" Eric maneuvers a slice out of the pan and slides onto a clean white plate, all the while keeping the layers of apple stacked neatly on top of each other.

"Yes," Jack says. "Well, not always. But the pie here, it's just, so good. Like." He leans over the counter in his enthusiasm, its edge biting into the pudge of his stomach. "If you could propose to a baked good, I'd be getting down on one knee right now."

"Oh, my goodness," Eric says, fanning his face with his hand theatrically. Jack's made him blush. "Wow. Really?"

"Not literally," Jack says. He shrugs, awkwardly. Eric can't see it, anyway, his back is turned now as he's getting Jack's coffee. "But, yeah, they really are that good."

"I don't even know what to say to that." Eric puts Jack's plate and his mug down together on the counter; his hands are steady, not affected at all. But the smile on his face looks… shy? It's not a look Jack's seen on him before - not that he's been secretly watching Eric eat lunch for the last few weeks or anything. "But thanks."

"Er, yeah," Jack says. "I mean. It's just a job anyway, right?"

"Just a job!?" Eric glares. "No more pie for you, mister. My pies are my flesh and blood, my beloved children, the lights of my life - "

"Your pies?" Jack interrupts the tumbling avalanche of words. "I thought… they were, um, 'Annie's' pies."

"Yes, my pies," Eric says. He puffs himself up with indignation like a peacock. "I told you, I work in the back. I make 'em. I make all the pastries, actually, but the pies are my own recipes."

"Oh," Jack says. "That's cool." He blinks. Cute Blond Boy is also an amazing pie-baker. "Um. That's really cool. Could you tell me about it?"

"Of course," Eric says, and now he's leaning over the counter. "Just try and get me to stop once I've started. Gosh. But, wait, a customer," he continues, stepping back from the counter and straightening up. Jack's pleased that he's not a customer, apparently. "Just a minute," Eric says, as Jack takes his food and shifts it over to the side of the counter to make space for the girl who steps up in front of the register.

"Yeah. I should get some work done, too," Jack says, to Eric, who's not listening any more. Now, where did the sugar go? He should know, since he's been coming here for weeks now. And he shouldn't have introduced himself by saying he loves pie, either. Now Eric probably thinks he's fat because he likes eating too much; he was hockey's new hope as a kid, just as fat, there's no way Eric knows that.

Not that he should care what Eric thinks, anyway.

"Ask me anytime, okay?" Eric says. "Another day, when I'm not on shift."

"Sure," Jack says. He's fumbling with the milk thermos: it doesn't want to open today, either.

To his right, he hears Eric say, "Sorry about that, honey. Now. How can I help you?" Of course Eric would be that guy who calls everyone honey; it doesn't mean anything, one way or the other.

And Jack won't get to talk to him again. He wants to, of course he does. But he knows himself, and he knows that it's just not going to happen.

_X_

What happens instead is that when he walks into Annie's the next day, planning to sit by himself, like usual, Eric waves at him with a smile. Jack can take that much of a hint. He returns the greeting, and after he's bought his coffee and a splice of today's special pie - it's apple nut brittle, which sounds promising, from the guy behind the counter with the intriguing cloud and small puff-cloud of hair, name of Derek, he goes to sit down at the table that Eric's already sitting at.

"Hi, Eric," he says. He occupies himself in settling his food on the table, and the bag with his papers in it under his feet, which is all he can think of to do.

"Hi," Eric says, with a smile. "Call me Bitty. All my friends do. And you're - ?"

"Oh," Jack says. He'd felt like they knew each other, after yesterday; he'd forgotten that he hadn't even told Eric - Bitty - his name. "I'm Jack." His instinct is to follow every introduction with a handshake, but Bitty's hands stay comfortably wrapped around his coffee cup, and so Jack shoves his back into his pockets instead.

"Jack," Bitty nods. "Hi, again."

"So…" Jack casts around, tries to remember why he'd thought that he could do this, yesterday. "You make pies?"

"Pies, pastries, sometimes bread. Or quick breads - it all depends. But the pies are my recipes, not Annies', so that's why they're my favorites."

Jack digs into his pie then, the shiny nut-studded surface crackling under the pressure of the fork's tines. He gets some of it onto the fork along with apples and a layer of crust. "By the way, this is delicious," he says, a bit of intensely appreciative chewing later. It's crunchy and chewy and sweet and even a little bit savory, too. "This is - " a pause to chew some more. "So much better than delicious. But I don't know what word means that."

"Flattery gets you nowhere," Bitty says, but he's blushing.

It makes Jack desperate, and dumb. "So, how did you start doing this?"

"Well, what happened is this. I started working here my sophomore year of college. I had a scholarship, freshman year, but I lost it, and so I needed to make money for books and stuff somehow. And at holiday time I brought in cookies to share with my co-workers, because that's just something I, alright? But Annie, she was so impressed with these simple little sugar cookies that she insisted that I switch to working in the back, making the baked goods. Well! You should know that it doesn't take insisting to get me to bake things! I love baking, and I was so excited to have a job doing it... but I still had to finish school, which was more of a struggle. And by the time I figured out that I wanted to do this, but in my own way, well, it turns out that having a degree in American Studies, even one with a concentration in Food Culture, doesn't help for having a bakery."

Jack scrapes the tines of his fork through the syrup that's slowly spreading across his plate. "I know what you mean," he says.

"You do?" Bitty puts down his sandwich, and pushes the plate far enough away that he can rest his hands flat on the table. "People always tell me that having a degree is better than having none, but sometimes I wonder if culinary school would've been a better choice."

"Ha, yeah. Maybe." Jack chews on his inner lip. "I teach history, and I enjoy it," the stresses of how and whether he can find a way to advance in the field aside, "but I spent, uh… many years. Training to be something completely different, and it is frustrating, to feel like all those years of work and getting better weren't good for anything in the end."

Bitty nods. "I wouldn't say not good for anything, because my friends from college are still with me, but… I get what you're saying, too. Definitely."

Jack eats a couple more bites of his pie before he continues, "It's challenging to switch tracks, I'm not saying it's not. But it's doable, and - " he gestures at what's left of his pie with his fork, though honestly he'd believe in Bitty even without its evidence " - I'm sure you can do it."

Bitty eats a little bit more of his sandwich, too, looking thoughtful. "I hope so," he says. "I think it just feels so difficult, because… I don't even know what I don't know. My normal M.O. is to bake people pie, but - how do you get your own bakery? And do I even want to start my own as an owner, like Annie did with this place, or is there, like, a job I can get? Because I don't think I need all that financial stress, if I could run the bakery of a place that someone else owned, but the way I bake is too Southern and nowhere near French enough to be a proper pastry chef, so..." Bitty trails off, and shoves the last remaining bit of his sandwich into his mouth with both hands.

Jack clamps down, hard, on this unhelpful and probably unwanted urge to volunteer - my parents are rich. I bet I could find enough money for whatever you need. Instead he says, "I don't know about any of this. But I wish I could help."

Bitty wipes the crumbs from his face. "You are helping. It's so nice just to talk about this. And to someone who understands how I feel! Saying don't get discouraged is all well and good, but sometimes I do get discouraged, you know?"

Jack leans forward. "I do know." And he manages, barely, to keep the coffee cup his arm had knocked into from falling over. "I feel like nothing I do is ever good enough."

"Exactly! I try and try - "

"And apply to every open position I find, but what do I do when they tell me, sorry, you're a very strong candidate, but you're just not a good fit for us."

"Ugh," Bitty says, "that's the worst. And I could say, well, at least you have positions to apply to, but, I don't know. Is that really better? I feel like I'd find it equally frustrating, just differently."

"It's hard to compare," Jack agrees. "And the thing is that I've always tried to be better, at everything I do. So there's nothing more frustrating than when I can't, and - " Jack suddenly remembers something. "What time is it, again?"

Bitty's phone responds before Jack's even succeeded in finding his own. "Five to four."

Jack swears in his head, uncreatively. "How did that happen." He's packing the papers that he hasn't looked at even once this afternoon, back into his bag quickly as he says, "I need to go now, the staff meeting's at four, but we'll talk later, right," and he's gone before Bitty has a chance to answer.

_X_

Jack's barely found himself a table at Annie's the next day when Bitty bounces over from the direction of the bar and plops down in the seat opposite.

"Jack! What are you doing here?" His coffee sloshes dangerously, cup too full to withstand the force of his enthusiasm.

"Work," Jack says. "Obviously."

"So? What kind of work do you do?"

Jack sighs. "You don't want to know. It's not interesting to people outside the field." Which he's reminded of every time he does answer such a question, and is rewarded for his efforts with glazed-over eyes or people hastily backing away.

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know," Bitty says. "And, besides, now you've got me curious."

"Uh," Jack says. He's had years of practice giving elevator pitches in conference halls; this shouldn't be too hard. "I'm studying the process of negotiation and reconciliation of contradictory identities among American and Canadian soldiers in World War II, specifically in the context of the intensely homosocial environment of a military unit within the ever-present homophobia of midcentury North American culture, how these contexts work together to construct a unique set of expectations for masculinity, and exploring the ways in which homosexual desires and behaviors were understood and expressed by men in these conditions."

Bitty's nodding like a bobblehead. It's too much nodding, probably.

"Is that good?"

"Hm," Bitty says. "Something about World War II and - homosexuality?"

"Basically, yeah." Jack wipes his palms surreptitiously on his knees.

"Interesting," Bitty says. The i's of the word stretch out like taffy. "Do you mind if I ask you why?"

"Well," Jack says, "I've been fascinated by World War II since I was a kid. When I was little I wanted to go and fight in it - ha. I didn't have a real clear idea of how history worked, back then. And then, later, the more I learned about it, the more I learned about why that might not have been the best idea." Jack shrugs. "But I found all the things I was learning so interesting that I kept wanting to find out more and more, so here I am." Jack pauses for breath, and also to eat a bite of the pie that he'd been neglecting shamefully. The meringue on the top of it is pillowy, a shocking contrast to the firmness of the lightly-cooked apple chunks right underneath; and underlying it all, the rich crumbly shortbread crust completes a wide-ranging palette of textures. "And," Jack says, swallowing and taking another bite and doing it all over again, "I'm bi."

"I did wonder, when you said 'homosexual.'" Bitty doesn't have food today, but he sips his coffee slowly, brow furrowed in thought. "It's not that I think there's anything wrong with straight people studying our history, but I'm still not sure how I feel about it."

"Our," Jack says. He thinks that he was supposed to catch that. "Are you bi too, or…?"

Bitty laughs. "I think you're literally the first person who's ever asked me that. No, I'm gay. But I'm sure you're not surprised."

"Not exactly surprised." Jack eats a bit more of his pie. It's so good, he's in a constant state of surprise at just how good it can be. "But I didn't want to assume, either."

"I appreciate the sentiment! I used to wish that people wouldn't… but I don't mind, now. It can be useful, and besides, it's not like I don't want people to know."

Jack nods. "That makes sense, I guess. I've just always hated it when people assume they know things about me, whether they're true or not."

"Speaking of which," Bitty says. "You said that you teach history... is it here? I mean, at Samwell? Are you a professor, or what?"

Jack drinks his coffee, this time. It's lukewarm already: unpleasant, but he swallows it anyway. "Only an adjunct." Then he cuts his remaining pie precisely. "But, technically, yeah."

"That's cool, though," Bitty says. "And what are you working on right now? Specifically?"

"Do you mean, what am I supposed to be working on right now?" Jack asks.

He means it to be teasing, but Bitty seems to take the riposte seriously. "No, that wasn't what I meant," he says. "But if you really should be, then sorry for distracting you. I'll stop now."

"I really should," Jack agrees. There's regret there, but - he'll never make progress if he spend all his dedicated research hours chatting instead, no matter how tempting it is.

"We'll talk more tomorrow?" Bitty asks.

"We will," Jack says, and already, he believes it when he says it. That they will. That it's likely, and not impossible. It's a nice feeling to have.

_X_

A few days later, when Jack's relaxing into the rhythm of his and Bitty's conversations - which is irregular, and mostly consists of him listening to Bitty go on and on, which, as he says when Bitty asks him, he does like, very much - Bitty says, "Oh, and you have to meet Lardo."

"Who's Lardo?"

"See the girl painting in the corner behind you?"

Jack twists around in his chair, and he sees - oh. It's the Coffee Shop Artist Girl. He turns back towards Bitty, and nods. It's so strange, though, to think that just over a week ago, she and Bitty were equally strangers to him.

"I've barely talked to her all week," Bitty continues, "Because I've been so busy talking to you. So, come on over, I'll introduce you."

"Now?" Jack asks, but Bitty's already getting up, picking up his coffee and his sandwich, too, which preemptively puts to rest any questions as to whether he might be coming back. Jack frowns, but there's nothing for him to do but follow Bitty to Lardo's table.

"Mind if we sit here?" Bitty asks.

Lardo looks up from the canvas she's painting with an expression of concentration that dissolves instantly into a smile when she registers who's asking. "Bits! Of course. But who's this guy?"

Bitty steps to the side, which isn't necessary. Jack's too tall to be able to hide effectively behind him, anyway. "This is Jack. He teaches history here at Samwell."

"Nice to meet you," Jack says, though he's not sure if it's technically a lie or not. He puts out his hand to shake, anyway.

Lardo's answering grip is firm, but fleeting. As she takes her hand back she looks Jack over quickly, appraisingly, and he wishes he could guess at what she sees. "Cool," she says. "Name's Lardo. Artist."

The table's scattered all over with papers, brushes, tubes of paint, so on, and so forth, but Lardo quickly moves them into piles so that Jack and Bitty can set their food down.

"Are you a professional artist?" Jack asks, sliding into the seat just vacated by a bulky bag of mysterious contents that's been relocated to the floor. "Or is it just a hobby?"

"I sell paintings," Lardo says. She's staring, currently, at the swoops and intersecting triangles of red and purple and black on the canvas in front of her, as if they hold the answers to the mysteries of the universe. "Not enough to live on."

"What Lardo means," Bitty says, "is that she is an artist. A real artist. Because art's about whether you love what you do, not about how much money you're paid."

"Thanks, Bits." Lardo's stirring her brush in the water, washing off the purple. The curlicues it makes as it finishes the process of disappearing fascinate Jack.

"And Lardo loves art," Bitty continues, passionately, seeming oblivious to the fact that Jack's making no move to disagree with him.

"The way you love baking pies," Lardo murmurs. The flawless back-and-forth catch of conversational passes makes Jack wonder if this is a defense they've run together before.

"Yeah," Bitty says.

"Are you sure, though?" Jack asks. Lardo lifts her head, and they both stare daggers at him.

"We could still ask you to leave this table." Bitty, apparently, has a way of making the nicest-seeming sentence threatening.

"I mean," Jack stumbles, hastening to clarify. "Not about being a real artist. But about loving it. How do you know? How are you sure?" The daggers disappear - thank goodness - only to be replaced by matching looks of disbelief.

"You just do," Lardo says. And that argument done, she selects a hair-thin brush and loads it up with blue paint, ready to illustrate her words with action. Or pictures, for all Jack knows.

"I don't think either of us could stop if we tried to," Bitty says. He looks significantly at the piece of pie that, come to think of it, Jack can't believe he's left untouched for so long in front of him. He takes a bite. It's pecan today, with a hint of some spice that makes the flavor of the nuts pop like Jack's never tasted. It's so good he actually has to bite back on a moan.

When it comes to what Bitty said, though. "Huh." Jack's not sure what to make of it. "What would you do, though, if you didn't have anything like that?"

Lardo and Bitty look at each other. "Something easier," they answer in unison.

"Or at least something that pays better," Bitty continues as Lardo carries on with her work. "You teach at a university. I bet you get a salary, and benefits."

"Ha. You'd think," Jack says. "My parents still have to help me out. And... I try? But they gave me three intro courses this year, and ninety percent of my lectures are composed of freshmen who don't seem to want to learn anything. It's a good feeling, though, when I do get someone interested in the material."

"I tutor for so many things," Lardo says. Her paintbrush continues on its movements, not missing a beat. My parents keep offering to support me so I can make art full time. But - I don't wanna."

When Bitty speaks up, his voice is bitter in exactly the way his pie isn't, and Jack realizes that he hasn't said anything for more than a minute. "My parents say they don't understand why I'm still working the same job I had while they were paying for my college degree. As if I didn't want something better!"

"That's rough," Jack says. "I feel incredibly lucky that my parents have been so supportive. Even when I realized midway through one career path that I wanted to change course, they never pressured me one way or the other."

"That's nice," Bitty says, though his smile seems brittle around the edges, like the pie's dark chocolate-drizzled crust. "But - excuse me. What exactly do you mean by 'change course'?"

"I'd rather not talk about it." If that's possible.

"Oh," Bitty says. "Of course. Sorry." He darts a look sideways to Lardo, as if for help, but she's studying her canvas, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth. As Jack watches Bitty watch her, she narrows her eyes at it suspiciously and tries another swipe of color. "So…" Bitty says. "Did you catch the Pats game the other night?"

Jack makes a face. "I don't follow football."

"And Bitty doesn't root for the Patriots." Lardo's eyes don't leave the blue and purple paint that she's now mixing with a small, blunt knife.

"Well," Bitty says. "I'm not gonna try to start a conversation about the Falcons in Boston."

"It'd be like asking about the Habs down here," Jack agrees. Bitty looks at him curiously, then, but thankfully doesn't follow up the look with any questions.

_X_

At the end of October, Jack walks into Annie's and headfirst into a swag of brilliant green tinsel. He looks around and sees more tinsel swinging in uneven loops from one side of the ceiling to the other and back, giant fuzzy glittering purple spiders climbing up the wall and over the bakery case, and behind him, in the window, a pair of clockwork man-like contraptions with pumpkins for heads.

"Wow," he says, sinking down automatically into his now-usual seat next to Bitty and Lardo.

"I know, right?" Bitty says. "'swawesome decorations."

"I'm so impressed," Jack agrees. He steals a bite of pie from the plate that's sitting unguarded in front of Bitty.

"I think they're okay," Lardo puts in, and Jack almost chokes on his pie. It would be a real pity if he had, a desecration of the pumpkin pie that has an almost cream-like texture and a more mellow flavor than he's used to.

"You don't like them?" he asks, when he recovers.

"She made them for us," Bitty explains. "Annie wanted a change of scenery. And I, for one, am very thankful, no matter how creepy they are," and now Jack can make sense of the smirk that's been lurking at the edge of Lardo's expression. She gives up on suppressing it, then, and she and Bitty bump fists.

"Ah. Okay."

"So," Bitty says. "Do either of you two have plans for Halloween?"

"As if," Lardo says. "My costume is 'swawesome, but I don't know any place worthy of it."

"I was thinking of staying home to give out candy," Jack says. "But my apartment building's mostly grad students. I don't think there'll be many kids."

"What are you, ninety?" Lardo asks. "Give up on the kids, anyway."

But - "That's perfect," Bitty says, leaning forward with the telltale gleam of enthusiasm bright in his eye. "Not your lack of plans, no offense, guys. But because y'all are definitely both coming to my friend Adam's Halloween party."

"I'm in," Lardo says.

"And especially you, Jack. I know you'd probably be working like always, but that's exactly why I think you need to try just loosening up for once. A party would do you good."

"Okay," Jack says. He can't think of a reason, at that moment, to refuse.

_X_

Only later do several problems with this plan occur to him:

First, he doesn't have an appropriate costume. Last time he dressed as Leo Major, no one even recognized the name after he told them who he was supposed to be. He needs something better, but he doesn't know what.

Second… it's a college party. There will be drinks. He's been avoiding parties for the last decade or so of his life, and he's not sure what temporary loss of grip on reality made him think he should go to this one.

(Oh, yes, he is.)

Which brings him to the third and last problem. Which isn't one, actually. Since Bitty didn't intend this to be a date, which he didn't, that's obvious from the way that he invited Jack and Lardo together and equally. It's not a date, it's nothing like one, so that's a problem avoided, there, because Jack's even worse at dating than he is at parties. And he wouldn't want to be on a date with Bitty even if he could.

[saviormysticmeme]

yooooo idk if you take requests but here's one of you want it???? so can i get SUPER fluffy wedding vows? for the rfa plus the minor trio? it's cool if you dont want to do it tho

I’m totally down to try requests!!!I feel like I’m kind of awkward with fluff and it always comes out more ‘Poetic’ than the cute fluff,  so I don’t know if they’ll all meet the SUPER level of Fluff but I’ll sure try! I hope you like it, feel free to leave comments or constructive criticism!

Yoosung:

He’s shaking a little. Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants.

He takes a deep breath and

  “MC, when we first met on the chat I was so nervous. I had talked to you for all of 5 minutes and I already knew I was going to fall in love with you. You were just so sweet, and kind, and whenever you got on the chat…Everything just felt better.”|   “Then I realized I didn’t even know what love was. I thought love was that feeling I had whenever we talked on the phone, but no, not even close.”     “Then I thought Love was the feeling of when I saw you in person for the first time. You looked like an angel, the type that revives players after the whole team has fallen. I thought you were going to revive me…But that still wasn’t love.”   “Love wasn’t the first time we kissed.”   “Love wasn’t moving in together”   “Love was …Love was the little moments.”   “Love was you cheering with me after winning a match even if you didn’t get LOLOL that much. Love was us taking care of each other while the other was sick. Covering each other with a blanket when we’d pass out after studying too hard. It was bringing surprise coffees to each other.”   “Love is the look in my eyes right now, staring at you. And I hope you can see it and I hope you know it’s nowhere near as beautiful as you or your soul but it’s everything I have to offer you.”                   “Will you accept it MC? Will you accept my Love?”

Jaehee

She’s calm, she’s content.

She takes one of your hands in both of hers and stares into your eyes

   “MC, I never expected this when we first met. I thought you were just going to be my new coworker, maybe friend at most. I didn’t expect you to make me the happiest woman alive.”   “It’s funny how things change over time isn’t it? When you first joined the RFA I didn’t even trust you to throw a party, but now…Now I trust you with my life. With my love. With my eternal happiness. Because to make me happy all you have to do is be by my side, because you make the world so much better. You make everything more fun, more pure.”   “I feel like because of my workplace appearance, everyone assumes I’m somewhat emotionless. Like I don’t have feelings, but I can tell you see me for so much more. But who knows, maybe you see more because I feel more when I’m with you. I used to aspire to be ‘successful’ but my idea of ‘Success’ was having a good job that I enjoyed, and while that’s a nice thought, I realize ‘Success’ is something else.   “It’s those moments when we’re holding each other and watching movies. Those moments when we laugh together. Those moments when we’re both behind the counter of the coffee shop pouring different drinks, but we glance at each other and we both smile.”   “I know this is Success because I don’t have any need to advance anymore. I’m content with this. I want the rest of my life to be like the way it is now.”                   “I want to spend the rest of my life with you MC”

Zen

He’s memorized his speech of course

He takes your hands in his, his touch is gentle

He takes a deep breath, ready to deliver his speech with all his gusto…but then lets it out his mouth slowly

This isn’t a performance, he reminds himself. This is true love.

   “MC, as an actor I understand just how powerful words can be. But I can also understand how that power can be overlooked. Sometimes I get scared…scared that when I tell you “I love you” you don’t know I mean “I love you with all my heart and I could never dream of a life without you”. I get scared that you think my version of ‘Love’ is devalued because I use the word so much, that you don’t know how strongly I mean it. When I say I love you, I don’t mean ‘I like having you around’ I mean ‘I need you’. When I call you ‘My Love’ I’m not calling you my partner, I’m calling you my soulmate, my better half.”

A tear or two start welling up in his eye, but he can’t bare to talk his hands away from yours.

   “And you’ve shown me a Love I’ve never had. All my life I felt unloved, until I became famous. Then I had strangers on the street telling me they loved me. And I expected that to fill this hole that had been growing in my heart, but it never quite did the job.”   “I had grown up feeling like I couldn’t be truly loved because of the way I looked. I felt like people would like me for my face and body and they wouldn’t even pay mind to what I was really like. I felt like they’d ignore my flaws just to look at me.”   “And the idea of someone looking past your flaws is nice, but not when they’re looking at someone who isn’t you. When people would ignore my flaws, it’s because they were looking at Zen.”

He gently squeazed your hands

No matter how much he had practiced his lines he still didn’t feel prepared

   “Then there was the first time you said you loved me.”

   “You did something thousands of fans and friends could not. You filled the hole in my heart. You taught me what it was to truly be loved. Not just for looks or talent, but for heart and soul as well. You didn’t ignore my flaws, you took them in your hands and showed them love and care. You said ‘We can work on them’.”    “You were never looking at Zen, you were looking at me, Hyun Ryu. And I                hope you choose to keep looking at him for the rest of our lives.”

Jumin

He’s staring into your eyes

He’s ready and jumps right into it

   “MC. I love you.”   “Every moment I’m with you is like the moment you first jump into a cold lake. The first time you jump out of a plane to skydive. That feeling you have when speeding down an empty highway at 100 mph with the top down. Being with you makes me feel things so intensely I thought my heart would burst the first time we met.”   “You make me feel alive.”    “I don’t think I’ll ever know what it is to ‘live’ again if you’re not with me. “   “I know we come from different places, I’m privileged enough to come from a place that many people don’t, and I haven’t always paid much attention to it. I’ve been…cold to others. You taught me what it is to show warmth, compassion, to other humans. You’ve made me such a better man, and I have no doubt you will only continue to do so. “

He takes your hands in his.

   “But not only are you admirable for being kind, you are strong too. Most people are intimidated by my status, they roll over to appease me and offer nothing but their meek support. You are unafraid to tell me when I am wrong, when I am getting cold again. I know I have a long, long, way to go on my path to becoming a better person, and it’s your strength I need to keep me on track.    “MC, if you promise to stay by my side and help me grow, I promise to give      you everything you could ever want in life. Whether it be material things, or                      every ounce of love my heart produces. It’s all yours”

Saeyoung

   “First of all I’d like to apologize. I always said we’d get married in a Space station…unfortunately the world isn’t that advanced yet and, MC, I can’t wait any longer. I want to marry you so badly…I hope you can forgive me for being impatient to spend the rest of my life with you.”   “Second, I want to thank you. You saved me, not only from others, but from myself. If I hadn’t met you I’d be hunched over my computer right now, doing god knows what, instead of looking into the eyes of the most beautiful person in the world.”   “I want to hold you in my arms forever, MC. I can see us now, just laying on a blanket staring at the night sky, talking about anything and everything, until our spaceship is ready. Then we’ll take a vacation out to space and take a trip around the earth. And you know what I will say to you everyday? Everyday I’ll tell you that I didn’t leave my world, because you’re my world. And it’ll be so cheesy and you’ll stop laughing after the hundredth time probably, but I’ll keep saying it so you never forget it MC. So you never forget that you are my everything.”           “Will you allow me to be your everything? Will you marry me?”

Saeran

He’s fidgeting.

You guys didn’t invite a lot of people, but the 10 pairs of eyes staring are enough to make him uncomfortable

“Saeran we can save the vows and everythi-” You were gonna try offering to do it all later

“No” His eyes snapped to you instead of your friends and family. You took his hands in yours. He’s not big on PDA but it hand holding usually soothes him a bit so you hope it helps. He glances down and seems to relax a little, then looks back to you.

You guys didn’t invite a lot of people, but the 10 pairs of eyes staring are enough to make him uncomfortable

   “I won’t lie, I’m a little uncomfortable right now. …I’m uncomfortable a lot of the time. My whole life has been pretty uncomfortable. But when I met you I saw…windows of time where I could be called…comfortable. The more time I spent with you the more ‘comfortable’ I got being around you. And eventually I think I found myself wanting to be near you. You’d come over and visit, and I’d find myself being disappointed when you’d leave.”     “One day when you came over…our hands touched. Like they are right now. And…you did it slowly…softly…I could tell you were trying to not make me jump cause I know I have a habit of doing that…and that’s how I knew you cared. It was a little weird honestly, you had taken the time to notice how I reacted to things, and what…what made me comfortable. You cared in a way no one else had…and yet again I felt uncomfortable. But a new uncomfortable. I usually wanted to be left alone, but now…being in solitude made me feel upset. I wanted you near me forever.”

   “So that’s why we’re here I suppose.” 

He cast a glance towards the small crowd, then back to you. You had a smile on your face, encouraging him on. 

   “You make me feel like you care about me. And I want you to know… I care about you. A lot. And I always want you near me. And… I’ll do whatever I can to make you comfortable by my side.”

             “So…MC…I want to marry you. And be with you forever.”

Jihyun/ V

He was calm and ready

He took his glasses off, usually in public he keeps them on because people get distracted by the slight fog to them, but this was about him and you.

   “MC…Words can’t begin to describe the joy I feel right now. Part of me considered just presenting a slideshow of pictures that express how I feel. A shot of a beach at twilight. Two orchids, stems and petals intertwined, swaying in the breeze. A panoramic that shows the moon rising and the sun setting…

   “I feel like when we’re together we create a path that the universe didn’t plan for, a path that’s spontaneous and beautiful. We’re an anomaly, no one saw it coming, not even us, but now that it has, every moment is pure magic. And I’d like to walk that path holding your hand every step along the way. When we’re together it’s impossible for me to feel pain. I’ve suffered from incidents along the way in life…but those moments when you look at me with a smile on your face, when you laugh at something silly, when you hug me each time you see me as a greeting…any injury I’ve ever had heals a little more.

   “We walked down this aisle, and now I ask you to walk a little more..because I love you more than anything else in the world.”

                  “Will you walk this path of life with me forever, MC?

Vanderwood

He was oh so confident. Staring everyone in the audience in there eyes with a slight smirk on his face

Then he saw you and he lost his cool a bit

You walked down the aisle towards him and he just

Gulped. Lost his composure for a second, but pulled it back together as you took the spot across from him

“Damn Babe you look good” He said, mouth slightly agape still

The Priest coughed a bit as a slight reprimand for his vocabulary.

“Oh, sorry.” Vanderwood cleared his throat.

   “MC..I uh, I suck at words so I’m sorry if this all seems underwhelming…Just know…I uh, feel a lot more than what I’m about to say. Ok? Ok.”

Another deep breath. He’s not used to feeling shook like this.

   “We met under some of the weirdest circumstances ever, like that shit could be a video game or movie or something. And I never believed in a ‘higher power’ or anything but…looking back I can’t feel like everything that happened, happened by coincidence. Had we not met in that situation would we have gotten as close as we did? I…I don’t know that we would have. It’s moments when your life’s in danger that you see someone for who they really are…and I saw that you were sweet, and kind, and still somehow a badass.”

The Priest didn’t even try

   “You risked your life to help your friends, and to protect me, a stranger at the time. You have to be one hell of a person to do that. And you are one hell of a person. Even if I hadn’t known it instantly, I would find out after spending time with you. Time that I cherish every moment of, because…because I love you. And I want to spend more time with you, a lot more…so I look forward to us getting married and spending the rest of our lives together.”

—-

Hope this was the fluff you were looking for!!

[notgonnarememberthis]

Through the Valley - Chapter 4

And we’re back again! This one took me a little longer because things kept on changing and getting switched around but I’m happy to have finally found the ground I was looking for during this one. I hope y’all enjoy!

A hand reaches into her line of sight, a glass of bourbon clutched in the fingers. Jessica looks up from where she was leaning against the counter. Gil smiles at her, a soft gaze that tells her he knows exactly what’s on her mind.

He’s annoyingly good at that.

She takes the glass with a small nod of thanks. He leans across from her on the table, his hands bracing either side. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t need to. She takes a drink before letting out a long sigh.

“Are you going to make me talk about it?” She asks, tilting her head forwards. She meant for it to sound playful, spirited even. Her voice betrays the exhaustion in her tone. She can’t remember the last time she slept a full night. Gil has been there the entire time, coaxing her out of the latest nightmare.

“No, but I know you want to.”

“I really don’t.” She huffs, taking another long drink. His eyes narrow and she throws her head back. That damn look breaks her every time. With his gentle eyes and encouraging smile. Damn bastard. “It’s Robert Van de Camp.” His smile drops. He knows exactly where this is going.

“He’s not him, Jess.” 

“I know that.” This one comes out as no more than a whisper. She looks away, eyes trained on a spot on the floor. She can’t look at him, if she does all of her emotions will come spilling out. She has to shut it all down, to protect him. To protect herself. “I just,” She takes a steadying breath. “It’s been twenty years. You’d think I’d stop seeing him everywhere.”

She sees him move out of her peripherals. He steps into her line of sight so that she’s focused on his chest rather than the ground. She still can’t bring herself to look up. “It’s my biggest regret that Martin got away that night.” 

She holds her breath for a moment. Just his name is enough to jolt her back to that night. The sirens echoing on the street, Malcolm’s frightened screams, Ainsley clinging to her legs. Waiting for hours after the kids had both fallen asleep with Malcolm burrowed into her side and Ainsley’s head in her lap. The sad look in Gil’s eyes when he had to tell her that Martin had gotten away.

How can a man just disappear?

“Well, if I hadn’t blown it he’d be rotting in a prison right now. Instead he’s probably sipping Mai Tais in Tahiti or playing golf in Mali.”

“Jess,” His fingers grab her chin gently, tipping it so that her eyes meet his. “You’re not to blame for what happened that night. Robert Van de Camp isn’t Martin. We’ll find him. I promise.” She offers him a small smile and an almost indecipherable nod. It’s enough for him when his eyes light up again. “How about after we close this case, it’s just you and me. We could take the weekend, go wherever you want?”

“And leave my children to wreak havoc in New York?” He laughs, dropping his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes allowing his comforting touch to wash over her.

“We can get the cheesecake you really like, and you wouldn’t even have Ainsley stealing bites.” The memory pulls a laugh from her chest. She would always offer Ainsley bites of her own dessert and end up losing half of it. Damn, he’s good. “Wait, I'm not done.” He interrupts as she goes to protest. “We could go to that cabin by the lake. Remember that?”

“You play dirty.” She jokingly shoves him but doesn’t let go of the lapels of his jacket. “Not this weekend, but soon?”

“I can take soon.” He leans in pressing a soft kiss to her lips. She lingers in his touch, allowing herself the moment of peace against the torrent that has been that past few months. “But I’m not letting you back out of this.”

“Deal.”

When he kisses her again she has to pretend not to taste the guilt in the back of her throat. She has to bear the weight of her lies once again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Another two days go by with no word from Cricket. Jessica hates to admit that she began to grow worried for the woman. Yet like every occasion she hoped that Cricket wouldn’t turn up for, she swoops in unannounced and shakes her world to an abrupt halt.

“Cricket!” She cries, wide eyed at the woman’s disheveled appearance. “You remember my daughter Ainsley?” Her announcement of another presence in the room stops whatever stream of consciousness about to spill out of her mouth.

“Yes!” She straightens, assuming the role of the proper lady that she always puts on at galas. One Jessica is more than familiar with the total bullshit of that facade. “My you’ve gotten big since the last time I saw you.”

“Since I was five?”

“Ainsley.” Jessica hisses hoping she gets the hint to leave. She looks between the two women seemingly unbothered by the new person before her eyes light up with realization.

“Right, nobody wants to talk to the journalist.”

“It’s not that.” She protests but Ainsley puts her hands up with a smile.

“It’s fine, mom. I was just playing.” She gathers her stuff. “Actually, Mrs. Van de Camp, would you mind giving us a minute?”

“Of course.” Before Jessica can stop her, the woman has already walked off. Familiar enough with the home to get out of the way so that she and Ainsley may talk. Jessica sighs, turning to her daughter, who no doubt has a slew of questions.

“So,” She runs her tongue over her teeth trying to think of the words. “That’s new.”

“Ainsley-”

“You know what, no. What the hell happened to I’d sooner be caught shopping at Target than that woman would be stepping into my home?” Golden curls fly with the animated movement Ainsley mocks. “Or if she ever crossed the doorway she’d catch on fire like the devil walking into a church.”

“You know what happened.” She lowers her voice, not entirely sure that the woman isn’t lingering just out of sight. It would be like her.

“Robert Van de Camp?” Her lack of answer is all the confirmation she needs. “He’s not-”

“I know he’s not your father.” She snaps, probably harsher than was deserved. Yet she almost expects Malcolm to burst in with the same words. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She can tell by her daughter’s tone that it’s really not. She makes a mental note to make up for it somehow. “I’m just worried. We are finally moving past Endicott and now you and Malcolm are obsessing over this guy.” Jessica bites her tongue. If only it were true that she moved past it, that his empty eyes didn’t haunt every nightmare she has. “This isn’t healthy.”

“Your concern is very sweet, it is. But I’m fine. I’m just talking to Cricket, that’s all.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.” She hugs Ainsley tightly, smiling when the hug is returned with equal ferocity. She doesn’t truly want to let go, not when she knows what’s waiting behind the door. The pain and suffering that whatever news Cricket has, will no doubt bring. She waits until Ainsley is long gone before rounding the corner to where she was.

Cricket doesn’t seem to notice her come in, rather her eyes are trained on the pages of a book, her fingers tracing over the letters with an almost indecipherable look on her face. Only her panic coming off of her in waves is clear.

She found the book.

Jessica opens her mouth to speak when the pounding on the front door startles them both. Never would her children act like that, hell, they stroll in without acknowledgement before they knock at all. She recognizes what’s happening before the shouting begins.

“Cricket, give me the book.”

“What?”

“Just give it to me, go!” The crash forces them into action. The front door is breached and Jessica barely sees the fuming face of Robert Van de Camp before she slides into the servant’s corridor. The hidden hallways loop around the main structure. The leather bound book in her hands feels like a burden as her eyes frantically scan the halls.

She can hear glasses shattering after a loud boom. Her heart leaps up to her throat as the sound of a fist hitting a wall echoes near her followed by a bellow that sounds more like it came from an animal than a man. “Where is it?!”

She stops when she sees a room branching off of the hallways, one she hasn’t seen since Ainsley was little and insisted on competitive games of hide and seek that left her more than often in a frantic search than a fun game. The laundry room is damp and humid, the concrete floors make the clicking sounds of her heels bounce around the small space. She moves automatically, sliding the book onto a shelf behind another box. It’s high enough that she has to stand on her toes to push it back into place. Without her heels she wouldn’t be able to see where it just sticks into view.

Perfect.

Her eyes fall on the sewing kit where silver glints at her. Her fingers wrap around the cool metal of the scissors. They’re not very big but they’ll do if she gets caught and needs to make a break for it.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket making her jump. She nearly drops it as she fishes it out of her jacket pocket, barely stable enough to make out Gil’s name as she rushes back down the hall again.

“Jess, where are you?” He sounds panicked. She can hear Malcolm asking more questions in the background. “Malcolm got a text from your security system.” Relief washes over her and for once she’s thankful Malcolm pestered her into including him and Ainsley both on the notification system.

“He’s here.” She keeps her voice at a whisper, mostly so she can follow the sounds of destruction. “He came for her.”

“Shit.” She can hear him flip the sirens on and she stops, wishing that she could hear them outside too. “We’re coming Jess, just hide.”

“How long?” She knows she’s well hidden, Robert doesn’t know her home like she does. But neither does Cricket.

“We’re close. Just stay hidden.” A guttural scream makes her blood run cold and she holds her breath. She can hear more shouting followed by begging. He found her, he found Cricket.

“I have to go.” She whispers.

“Jessica no-” His voice cuts off as she ends the call. Her fingers clench tighter around the scissors, with the blades pointed out. She can feel her heartbeat in every part of her body, trying desperately to warn her that this was a bad idea. As if she didn’t know as she slipped from a door back into the main hall.

She slides behind a shelf when she sees the two of them. He’s standing above her holding a pistol. Cricket is on the ground, one hand cradling her cheek. Even from behind she can see that he’s beyond talking down.

“Why?” She begs, tears rolling down her cheeks as she sobs.

Jessica watches as Robert lurches forwards. “I did what I had to!” The shout makes her skin crawl. “Connor’s admission scandal almost ruined us. We were in debt. I did what I had to do to keep our family happy, to keep you happy!” His words wrap around her lungs, and she has to hold her breath to keep from alerting him. “But it was never enough for you.”

“Robert please.” Cricket’s voice comes out as a plea. She clutches the pair of scissors in her hand tighter, wishing against everything that they’d bust down the door already. They always had perfect timing, rushing in just as the tension peaked.

But they aren’t coming, and the gun is trained on her. Is he really willing to kill his wife to hide what the hell is in that book?

She can’t wait to find out. 

The floorboards creak as she steps out behind him, but its too late. She buries the scissors into his shoulder using her other hand to keep the gun pointed downwards. Briefly she can see as Cricket runs for cover but the struggle continues. The sound of shots make her ears ring, but she manages to knock it from his hands.

She kicks it, sending it skittering across the floor while she backs up. His face is red, from both pain and anger as he rips the scissors from his shoulder. She puts her hands up ready to defend and he lunges.

Another shot and he’s down before he can take two steps towards her. A figure rushes at her and she’s ready to fight back out of pure instinct but the body crashes into her instead. It takes her mind a few more seconds to realize she isn’t being attacked, but rather the arms are wrapped protectively around her. She can hear Malcolm’s voice, asking what the hell she was doing.

Her hands hover above him, still stained with Robert Van de Camp’s blood.

She watches Dani over his shoulder as she kneels by the body, two fingers checking his pulse. She’d been the one who fired, they breached the home at some point during the struggle, likely rushing at the sound of gunshots. He was dead before he hit the ground. Jessica didn’t kill him but the guilt still lingered.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“What the hell were you thinking?” Jessica finally looks up from where she’d been staring at Cricket. “I told you to wait.” She has to bite her tongue from snapping at Gil. If she’d waited any longer Cricket would be dead. They would’ve been far too late.

“Gil,”

“No, I actually want to know what you were thinking. Because this is becoming a running trend with the Whitlys and I’m kind of curious if it’s genetic.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t thinking?”

“I didn’t have time to think. There was a man in my house with a gun. He found Cricket and I did what I had to do.” Gil runs his hands over his face, a momentary sorrowful look passing through his eyes.

“I know.” What? Her head snaps back to look at him properly. She was sitting on his desk and he had been moving around, now she’s truly focused on him. “Jess, when I heard those shots I thought.” He swallows heavily, eyes not meeting hers. “I couldn’t stop Malcolm from running through the door.”

Her heart stops, the darkest part of her mind imagining what that would be like. Malcolm finding her bleeding and unable to help, or worse finding her dead. Her voice gets stuck in her throat.

“I didn’t know what we’d see in there.” She reaches out to him, her fingers interlacing with his. “I didn’t-”

“I’m ok.” She whispers, pulling both of his hands to her chest so she could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage. “I’m ok.” His forehead falls to hers, his eyes drifting shut as he lingers. She feels him slowly relax and she smiles, a sad understanding grin. She felt the same way any time Malcolm was injured on a case. That kind of paranoia that only holding him could chase away. Having him safe in her arms.

If that’s what he needed now, she’s more than happy to provide.

[lindyhunt]

Meet The TTC Bus Driver Who Loves Nail Art

TTC bus driver-turned-rising Instagram sensation Michael Maguire is at a Tibetan momo shop close to the Toronto Queensway Bus Division “saaavouring” dinner before an evening shift when I call him to set up our interview. The -16 degree weather seems to have not frozen his spark, and he announces he’s just booked us matching manicure appointments for the following weekend. “Do you like burritos?” he asks me. “There’s a burrito place right down the street. We can make it a girls’ day.”

View this post on Instagram

Sitting on my throne and thinking that subtle and nuanced is the way to connect with the public.

A post shared by Michael Maguire (@ttcnails) on Feb 3, 2019 at 11:53pm PST

Last week, OCAD University student Brigit O’Neil tweeted about the gladdening encounter she’d had boarding a bus driven by Maguire. “He told me he really liked my nails. He saw I was slightly confused by the compliment so offered his hand,” she wrote. “And let me tell you I did not expect to see a set of glamorous long pointed blue and silver nails encrusted with rhinestones.” Hundreds of retweets later, Maguire’s phone is still buzzing with excited friends and colleagues writing to say they saw his nails on the internet. (Maguire can’t check his phone while he’s physically in the driver’s seat, so he tends to each mountain of messages during breaks or after work.)

I arrive at Vanity Nail Bar, a busy salon with thrones for chairs and a bright pink storefront sign in Toronto’s Bloor West Village. If I hadn’t already scrolled through Maguire’s Instagram account, @ttcnails, and known who I was looking for, I’d probably not have assumed the 56-year-old man dressed in routine dad-type denim, a black winter toque and a TTC logo-emblazoned sweater was my subject for the day. And I may not have expected to see Maguire grandly enter the salon to a chorus of friendly greetings from the owner and technicians, then convivially plunk down in a princess chair and remove a small packet of independently procured nail accessories from his pocket. But days prior, I and Maguire’s 2000 other new Instagram followers, learned that in fact this Etobicoke-raised father of twin sons, who loves baseball, beer and U2, boasts a nail game Cardi B herself would admire.

  View this post on Instagram

Hateth not the player… Hateth the game. VANITY NAILS

A post shared by Michael Maguire (@ttcnails) on Jan 13, 2019 at 4:35pm PST

As Maguire and I settle in for our side-by-side nail appointments, I ask the manicurist for a fairly simple matte black. Maguire’s vision is much more ambitious. He reveals a gallery of inspiration from within his phone, and meticulously discusses creative direction with Jean, the nail technician to whom he’ll relinquish artistic control as soon as they sort out the essentials, most importantly: pink glitter on his under-nail. Jean grabs a small pair of plyers and begins clipping off the rhinestones that launched Maguire to fame. For three hours, she files, sands, coats and cures Maguire’s nails, lavishes them in builder gel — a phrase not lost on me given the careful, elaborate construction of it all, plus the fact that Maguire is in the midst of a major home renovation project with his brother — then uses a wand and a pot of iridescent dust to transform them into chrome. Maguire’s eyes fill with tears. (I almost cry myself when Maguire tenderly details the pleasure of seeing his nails dazzle in the reflection of the bus window as he drives.) An additional nail technician assists in the work of reshaping his nails from almond to ballerina, as Maguire occasionally winces due to a shoulder injury that makes the process less than comfortable. Maguire’s chrome dreams now brought to life, Jean expertly applies dozens of rhinestones, selected with the help of several other nail technicians, to his $150 hands.

“When I leave here I feel put together,” says Maguire. “I feel pretty. It’s like glitter exploding inside me.”

In 2013, Maguire suffered a broken leg. Upon the removal of his cast, a nurse suggested he get a pedicure to clean up his neglected feet. He went for what was supposed to a maintenance appointment — Maguire’s first — and left with the nails on his fingers and toes painted a rainbow of primary colours. “Life-changing,” he says. “The pedicure was the gateway.” Maguire’s sons, 15-years-old at the time, were unperturbed. Now 20, their main nail-related concern is that their dad deserves more Instagram followers.

When a photo of Maguire’s nails ended up on Toronto entertainment platform 6ixbuzz, he said he felt like “a teenager being cyber-bullied”. Though Maguire identifies as straight, and once even brought a woman on a date to the nail salon, many of those comments were distressingly homophobic. Beyond that, Maguire says he has not experienced any demonstrably dangerous confrontations. “You know what it is?”, he says. “It’s the look. If someone loves my nails, they’ll tell me. If someone thinks it’s weird, or is being judgmental, I get the look. Maybe I’m projecting. But you just feel it.”

Toward the end of the three-hour appointment, I realize that there have been no sideways glances or grimaces of denunciation at Maguire’s presence in a nail salon populated by women of varying ages. As is typical of most nail salons, clients exchange quick pleasantries or don’t notice each other at all. When we later get burritos — this girls’ day follows a strict itinerary — the millennials working the counter observe the Aurora Borealis on Maguire’s hands but offer no visible reaction. The other customers are too focused on their own plates to care about the contents of a stranger’s sleeves. (At the salon, one nail technician leaves her station to come over and ask if he’s the one who works for the subway. She leaves then promptly returns with a tray of jewels for him to browse.)

  View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Michael Maguire (@ttcnails) on Dec 13, 2018 at 10:04am PST

Most men are indifferent, says Maguire, but his admirers are gender neutral overall. One summer, a contractor boarded a bus he was driving on Martin Grove Road and complimented Maguire’s French manicure. “From a guy you’d never expect it from”, he recalls. “This guy was covered in drywall. He’d just left the work site.” Maguire does admit that “The dating pool shrinks dramatically”, noting that many women assume his penchant for nice nails means that he’s gay. “I think some [women] are a little thrown off by it,” he says. “So I put a picture of my nails on my Plenty of Fish profile. This way it’s not a surprise…But I’ve never quite understood our fascination with other people’s sexuality. Why are we so obsessed with that?” Last night, he says, a woman on the bus told him she admired his bravery. “I’m just being myself,” he says. “I’m not on a crusade. But if it puts a smile on anyone’s face, my job is done. At the same time, I don’t do this to be shy and reserved.”

“I’m a positive person by nature. Nothing but love, compassion and glitter,” says Maguire. “And right now I feel off the charts. I feel super alive. Heightened. It’s a natural high.”

As my own manicure finishes, Maguire insists that I, too, get some flashy hardware on my accent fingers. Not being the glitzy type, at least not in the sober light of Sunday afternoon, I resist. But Maguire encourages me to abandon the inhibitions preventing me from living a life of pizzazz. I run through a quick mental roll call of who I’ll see this week —an editor I’ve never met before, my class of fourth year undergraduate students, my professorial university colleagues, my therapist, who always notices my nails because I once bemoaned the money I spend on appearance only for every heterosexual man I’ve ever dated to be oblivious to the labour of beautification. But if Maguire can showcase his shimmery talons on the steering wheel of a TTC bus before an audience of thousands daily, I can lean in, too. (Now all I want is more.)

As an unrelated side note between bites, Maguire shares with me a gem of construction wisdom earned by years of landscaping and home renovations work: “You make your mistakes in the corner.” He is referring, of course, to the literal corner, where oddities and imperfections would be kept secluded. As Maguire heads off to a pub to watch the Super Bowl and I travel home to bask in the luminosity of my new rhinestones, I can’t shake the gravity of it. Maguire’s message is to be yourself wherever you go — defiantly, resplendently, unconventionally — not hidden in any corner.

“In the grand scheme of things, it’s so ridiculous”, he chuckles. “But it’s fun. And it makes me happy.”

[jessicakehoe]

Meet The TTC Bus Driver Who Loves Nail Art

TTC bus driver-turned-rising Instagram sensation Michael Maguire is at a Tibetan momo shop close to the Toronto Queensway Bus Division “saaavouring” dinner before an evening shift when I call him to set up our interview. The -16 degree weather seems to have not frozen his spark, and he announces he’s just booked us matching manicure appointments for the following weekend. “Do you like burritos?” he asks me. “There’s a burrito place right down the street. We can make it a girls’ day.”

View this post on Instagram

Sitting on my throne and thinking that subtle and nuanced is the way to connect with the public.

A post shared by Michael Maguire (@ttcnails) on Feb 3, 2019 at 11:53pm PST

Last week, OCAD University student Brigit O’Neil tweeted about the gladdening encounter she’d had boarding a bus driven by Maguire. “He told me he really liked my nails. He saw I was slightly confused by the compliment so offered his hand,” she wrote. “And let me tell you I did not expect to see a set of glamorous long pointed blue and silver nails encrusted with rhinestones.” Hundreds of retweets later, Maguire’s phone is still buzzing with excited friends and colleagues writing to say they saw his nails on the internet. (Maguire can’t check his phone while he’s physically in the driver’s seat, so he tends to each mountain of messages during breaks or after work.)

I arrive at Vanity Nail Bar, a busy salon with thrones for chairs and a bright pink storefront sign in Toronto’s Bloor West Village. If I hadn’t already scrolled through Maguire’s Instagram account, @ttcnails, and known who I was looking for, I’d probably not have assumed the 56-year-old man dressed in routine dad-type denim, a black winter toque and a TTC logo-emblazoned sweater was my subject for the day. And I may not have expected to see Maguire grandly enter the salon to a chorus of friendly greetings from the owner and technicians, then convivially plunk down in a princess chair and remove a small packet of independently procured nail accessories from his pocket. But days prior, I and Maguire’s 2000 other new Instagram followers, learned that in fact this Etobicoke-raised father of twin sons, who loves baseball, beer and U2, boasts a nail game Cardi B herself would admire.

  View this post on Instagram

Hateth not the player… Hateth the game. VANITY NAILS

A post shared by Michael Maguire (@ttcnails) on Jan 13, 2019 at 4:35pm PST

As Maguire and I settle in for our side-by-side nail appointments, I ask the manicurist for a fairly simple matte black. Maguire’s vision is much more ambitious. He reveals a gallery of inspiration from within his phone, and meticulously discusses creative direction with Jean, the nail technician to whom he’ll relinquish artistic control as soon as they sort out the essentials, most importantly: pink glitter on his under-nail. Jean grabs a small pair of plyers and begins clipping off the rhinestones that launched Maguire to fame. For three hours, she files, sands, coats and cures Maguire’s nails, lavishes them in builder gel — a phrase not lost on me given the careful, elaborate construction of it all, plus the fact that Maguire is in the midst of a major home renovation project with his brother — then uses a wand and a pot of iridescent dust to transform them into chrome. Maguire’s eyes fill with tears. (I almost cry myself when Maguire tenderly details the pleasure of seeing his nails dazzle in the reflection of the bus window as he drives.) An additional nail technician assists in the work of reshaping his nails from almond to ballerina, as Maguire occasionally winces due to a shoulder injury that makes the process less than comfortable. Maguire’s chrome dreams now brought to life, Jean expertly applies dozens of rhinestones, selected with the help of several other nail technicians, to his $150 hands.

“When I leave here I feel put together,” says Maguire. “I feel pretty. It’s like glitter exploding inside me.”

In 2013, Maguire suffered a broken leg. Upon the removal of his cast, a nurse suggested he get a pedicure to clean up his neglected feet. He went for what was supposed to a maintenance appointment — Maguire’s first — and left with the nails on his fingers and toes painted a rainbow of primary colours. “Life-changing,” he says. “The pedicure was the gateway.” Maguire’s sons, 15-years-old at the time, were unperturbed. Now 20, their main nail-related concern is that their dad deserves more Instagram followers.

When a photo of Maguire’s nails ended up on Toronto entertainment platform 6ixbuzz, he said he felt like “a teenager being cyber-bullied”. Though Maguire identifies as straight, and once even brought a woman on a date to the nail salon, many of those comments were distressingly homophobic. Beyond that, Maguire says he has not experienced any demonstrably dangerous confrontations. “You know what it is?”, he says. “It’s the look. If someone loves my nails, they’ll tell me. If someone thinks it’s weird, or is being judgmental, I get the look. Maybe I’m projecting. But you just feel it.”

Toward the end of the three-hour appointment, I realize that there have been no sideways glances or grimaces of denunciation at Maguire’s presence in a nail salon populated by women of varying ages. As is typical of most nail salons, clients exchange quick pleasantries or don’t notice each other at all. When we later get burritos — this girls’ day follows a strict itinerary — the millennials working the counter observe the Aurora Borealis on Maguire’s hands but offer no visible reaction. The other customers are too focused on their own plates to care about the contents of a stranger’s sleeves. (At the salon, one nail technician leaves her station to come over and ask if he’s the one who works for the subway. She leaves then promptly returns with a tray of jewels for him to browse.)

  View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Michael Maguire (@ttcnails) on Dec 13, 2018 at 10:04am PST

Most men are indifferent, says Maguire, but his admirers are gender neutral overall. One summer, a contractor boarded a bus he was driving on Martin Grove Road and complimented Maguire’s French manicure. “From a guy you’d never expect it from”, he recalls. “This guy was covered in drywall. He’d just left the work site.” Maguire does admit that “The dating pool shrinks dramatically”, noting that many women assume his penchant for nice nails means that he’s gay. “I think some [women] are a little thrown off by it,” he says. “So I put a picture of my nails on my Plenty of Fish profile. This way it’s not a surprise…But I’ve never quite understood our fascination with other people’s sexuality. Why are we so obsessed with that?” Last night, he says, a woman on the bus told him she admired his bravery. “I’m just being myself,” he says. “I’m not on a crusade. But if it puts a smile on anyone’s face, my job is done. At the same time, I don’t do this to be shy and reserved.”

“I’m a positive person by nature. Nothing but love, compassion and glitter,” says Maguire. “And right now I feel off the charts. I feel super alive. Heightened. It’s a natural high.”

As my own manicure finishes, Maguire insists that I, too, get some flashy hardware on my accent fingers. Not being the glitzy type, at least not in the sober light of Sunday afternoon, I resist. But Maguire encourages me to abandon the inhibitions preventing me from living a life of pizzazz. I run through a quick mental roll call of who I’ll see this week —an editor I’ve never met before, my class of fourth year undergraduate students, my professorial university colleagues, my therapist, who always notices my nails because I once bemoaned the money I spend on appearance only for every heterosexual man I’ve ever dated to be oblivious to the labour of beautification. But if Maguire can showcase his shimmery talons on the steering wheel of a TTC bus before an audience of thousands daily, I can lean in, too. (Now all I want is more.)

As an unrelated side note between bites, Maguire shares with me a gem of construction wisdom earned by years of landscaping and home renovations work: “You make your mistakes in the corner.” He is referring, of course, to the literal corner, where oddities and imperfections would be kept secluded. As Maguire heads off to a pub to watch the Super Bowl and I travel home to bask in the luminosity of my new rhinestones, I can’t shake the gravity of it. Maguire’s message is to be yourself wherever you go — defiantly, resplendently, unconventionally — not hidden in any corner.

“In the grand scheme of things, it’s so ridiculous”, he chuckles. “But it’s fun. And it makes me happy.”

The post Meet The TTC Bus Driver Who Loves Nail Art appeared first on FASHION Magazine.

Meet The TTC Bus Driver Who Loves Nail Art published first on https://borboletabags.tumblr.com/

[doctor-who-hears-a-horton]

A Killer Affair (TenxRose)

Rating: Teen

Chapter 1/ ?

Read it on AO3 here (Stay tuned for updates!)

**********************

She’d been on his case for about a year and a half. That time had been dedicated to studying his every move, what he did, what he was supposed to do and didn’t turn up for, and who he hung around with.

All in all, Dr. John Smith was dreadfully boring.  He never had women around, or even friends for that matter, which would make him an easy target, and he only attended events for the business that he owned.  

The man owned Gallifrey Airlines, and he was supposed to be dead.

Well, perhaps that was a bit harsh.  Rose Tyler, or ‘Bad Wolf’ as her was her alias, was to assassinate him.  And it could be the term ‘assassinate’ because she was hired to kill him for political gain.

For whatever reason, the Queen of bloody England loved John.  Possibly because the royal family owned private jets through his airlines and he raised awareness for a load of different charities.  All in all, he was a very ‘nice’ guy.  And that made him sloppy, and easy to track, and follow.

She was meant to study him for two years before striking. The man who had hired her, known only as ‘The Master’ had told her so. But he had contacted her about a month ago and asked her to get close to John Smith before killing him. She had agreed.  There was a certain contract between an assassin and the person who wanted the assassination to be completed.  She was to obey his rules, because he told her how to kill and who to kill.

Rose wasn’t really in the business by choice.  She’d never finished any higher education, never finished her A-levels.  She was quite useless, really.  Her boss, known only as “The Face” had gotten her into it.  His way of killing was a bit more ‘seduce’ and less ‘take by surprise’.  Rose didn’t like to do that, and never had.  Though, she’d only killed twice, and both were cheating husbands anyway, so it wasn’t like it would’ve been hard to seduce them anyway.

The Master called her one night, and since she wasn’t expecting it, she answered immediately.

“Hello?”

“Bad Wolf?”

“This is she,” Rose said. “What do you need?”

“Remember how I told you to get close to him?”  The Master said, taking care not to use his name.

“Yes, I do,” Rose said, “Has something changed?”

“He’s going to be at a diner this afternoon, if you can catch up with him and start getting in his good graces, that would be extremely helpful.”

“Are you saying that you’d like me to speed up the process?” Rose asked patiently, sitting on her couch and crossing her legs.

“Well, I suppose so, yes,” The Master said, “He’s getting on my nerves more than usual, I thought I could wait.”

“Sure thing,” Rose said, leaning her head back on the couch.  “When do you want it done then?”

“As soon as possible, Bad Wolf.  What do you have on him so far?”

“His work schedule, his weekend visits.  The people he hangs around, which really isn’t that many, it’s quite sad.”

‘I know,” the Master said, “It won’t be much of a loss, when he’s… Moved on.”

Rose decided not to respond to that. It wasn’t necessary.  She had no feelings one way or the other towards this man, so it didn’t really matter.  She blew out a sigh.  “So, you’d like for me to meet him at this diner because? What? You want me to get closer to him quicker?”

“If you can, yeah,” The Master said, “I’m sure he’d love to meet you today, it’s not like he won’t be eating alone.”

Rose squinted across her living room. “Okay, then, how did you know where he was going to be?  And I didn’t?”

“It’s the anniversary of his parents’ death. I used to be friends with him, remember.  He goes to this diner every year.”  The Master paused, “So are you going to do it or shall I take back the first half of the money I’ve given you?”

Rose checked her watch and tried not to grumble.  “Give me the address,” she said.

The Master gave her an address and a time.  Within the hour Rose was sitting in a diner that she’d never been in before.  She knew what John Smith looked like, and so when he walked into the cafe, she spotted him instantly, and moved to the back of the queue, just behind him.  He didn’t notice that she had come up behind him from already being inside the store.

Rose leaned her weight onto one hip.  Then she tapped his shoulder.  He turned over his shoulder and smiled at her.

“Hi, sorry to bother you, but I’ve never been here before.  Have you got any recommendations?”

John smiled, a friendly smile that she blocked out.  He jerked his head towards the counter.  “The best thing here is the turkey sandwich, and all the soups are really good,’ he said.  “Unless you’re a vegetarian.”

She grinned. “I’m not. I think I’ll go with your suggestions,” she said. “I’m sure they’ll be great.”

He nodded. “Are you new in town?” He asked.

“No, lived round here my whole life, just never got around to this place,” she said, looking around, “It looks nice.”

“It is nice,” he said, “I know the owner, she’s my cousin.”

“Oh,” Rose smiled, rifling through his information in his head. “What’s her name?”

“Donna Noble,” He said, “Brilliant, really. I try to give her business whenever I can.  You know, family ties and all that.”

“Sorry, I never asked, what’s your name?”

“John Smith,” he said, and extended his hand to her. She shook it, feeling a bit odd that she was touching the man that she was planning on killing.  It felt odd, really, and she wasn’t sure how to approach it.  She forced another smile.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Rose,” She only felt comfortable telling him her name because she knew his murder would never be drawn back to her.  It would be easy to make it look like an accident, and if she ‘got close’ the way she was supposed to, she could go to the funeral and cry and then be right back home for dinner.  

“Rose. Lovely name,” he said, “Well, I’m sure you don’t fancy sitting alone, unless you do… I suppose what I’m trying to ask is if you’d like to have lunch with me?”

Rose grinned. “Sure,” she said.   “I’d love to have lunch with you.”

His eyes seemed a little sad, regardless of what nice things he was saying and the smile on his face. She remembered that the Master had told her that it was the anniversary of his parents’ death.  

The two of them ordered their food and took a seat at a table, sitting across from each other, and waiting for the server to bring their food out. John’s cousin hadn’t served them, which Rose decided was probably best, because she didn’t need to see John showing any emotion.

“So what do you do, Rose?” he asked finally, taking a pen from his pocket and starting to draw on a napkin.

“I’m a secretary,” she said, spouting out the planned answer. “You know, just a temp.”

He looked up at her. “I’m sure you’re not just a temp,” he said gently, as though trying to encourage her.  

She smiled, brushing it off. “And what do you do, John?” She asked, leaning on the table a bit, eager to see if he was going to lie or not.

He lifted a shoulder. “I try to do a load of things,” he said slowly, cautiously, “But I own a company.”

“What company?” “Gallifrey Airlines. Have you flown with them?” John asked, turning back to his napkin.  

“No, I’ve never flown anywhere,” Rose said, smiling tightly.  “Never really needed to go anywhere, you know?”

“Someday you should, if you can,” John said, smiling to her. “I could give you a free flight, get you wherever you want.”

Rose was taken aback, and sat back in her chair. “Why would you do that for someone that you just met?” she asked, “You don’t even know me.”

John sat back and set the pen down next to the napkin.  ‘I like to be nice,” He said, lifting a shoulder.  “Everything I’ve done for other people, it’s because I want people to be happy, you know?” he said. “And I don’t think nearly enough people get to travel. If I could dock the prices of flights, I would.”

Rose smiled. “Well, that’s very kind of you.’ “I’m not doing it for attention,” he said, frowning at her tone.

“Well, I’ve never heard of you, so obviously you’re not,” Rose said, trying to encourage him instead of getting him irritated. She didn’t want him to be getting irritated and pushing her away before she even got started.  She grinned, probably a bit too widely, trying to be charming.  “Though maybe perhaps someday, I’ll go somewhere.”

Supposedly forgiven, he nodded at her. “I hope so,” he said, “You can’t stay in London forever, that would be the most dull idea on the planet.”

“I won’t, believe me,” Rose said.  She reached out and tapped her pointer finger on the napkin that he’d been drawing on.  “What have you drawn? I’ve never seen someone draw successfully on a napkin before.”

He turned the napkin to face her.  It wasn’t really anything, just a design.  It wasn’t anything that was distinguishable, but if Rose was being honest, it was very beautiful.  She cocked her head and stared at it. “What is it?”

“I just see pictures in my head, and I like to draw them. It’s how I came up with the Gallifrey Airlines logo.” He shrugged. “I used to be good at art.”

“Looks like you still are,” she said.  “You designed the logo?”

“I did.”

Their food was delivered and they ate together. Rose was detached, as she was getting very good at it, but still maintained an interesting conversation with him.  He didn’t do a lot, but he was writing a book about psychics.  She found out that he was also a Doctor of astronomy and physics.  He was dead clever, and she wondered why, exactly, the Master hated him so much.

She reminded herself that she was not in the position to be questioning her employer, especially when he was paying her.  He could pull the money at any time, and she couldn’t afford that.  

About an hour later, when their dishes were gone and she realized that she’d been chatting with him too long, she checked her watch.  “I’ve got to go,” she said, “Back to work.”

“Alright,” he said, standing with her.  He stuck his hand out and she shook it, smiling in a way that she hoped didn’t come across as fake.

He sniffed and looked away for a second before tucking his hands in his pockets.  “Thank you for spending today with me, I don’t think you quite know what it means to me.”  He had no idea that Rose knew exactly why it meant so much to him, and she didn’t let on.

“Sure thing, John.”

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” He said as she was turning.  His voice sounded anxious, like he didn’t want to let her go.

Well, this was her chance to get closer to him, the way the Master wanted. “I could give you my phone number, I suppose,” she said, “We could chat a bit.”

John nodded. “I would like that a lot, thank you,” he said, taking his mobile from his pocket and gave it to her.  She tapped in her number and first name and handed it back to him.  It would be very difficult to track someone just named “Rose” after all, and she had two phones, and only one of them was for work.

“I’ll call you,” he said, though it sounded more like a question.

She nodded. “I hope you do, John Smith,” she said, and winked at him before turning over her shoulder and leaving the cafe. Shortly after she crossed the threshold, her phone rang.  She peered at it, expecting John, although it was her work phone, and saw ‘The Master’ flashing on her caller ID. She sighed and answered it.

“Hello?”

“I see you’ve left the cafe.”

“Were you watching us?” Rose demanded.

“Just making sure you were doing your job,” the Master said, “I’m gone now, don’t bother looking for me. Just wanted to let you know that I saw and that you appear to be doing a good job.”

“Well, Master, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s doing my job,” she said.

“Brilliant. Talk soon, Bad Wolf.”

She hung up and shut off any thought of John Smith from her mind.